


Our Songs Live Longer Than Our Kingdoms

by Cuptivate



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bag End, Bree - Freeform, Dwalin Is A Softie, Dwarrow History, Erebor Reclaimed, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Happy Ending, Line of Durin, Psychometry, Soulmates, The Shire, bagginshield, finished work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 136,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27096280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuptivate/pseuds/Cuptivate
Summary: Even dwarflings know how it goes: Mahal created the Seven Fathers, and when they woke, they did so alone. It is not known when the first dwarrowdams appeared, and how they came to be, but it is a well-accepted fact that all dams have been gifted with the power to recognize their One as soon as they set eyes on him. To find the mate Mahal has crafted to share a soul with is considered the ultimate goal of every dwarrowdam’s life, and to claim him for husband the crowning moment. To refuse such a bond, a True Bond, is considered the height of dishonour.————Thorin has reclaimed Erebor and is suddenly confronted with recently forged items that bear his father’s maker’s mark. But his father is believed dead ever since he disappeared at the edge of Mirkwood over a hundred years ago ...
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Nori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 203
Kudos: 197





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> How Tolkien dealt with Thráin has always bugged me. According to the books Thráin got captured in TA2845. Gandalf found him in TA2850 when he went to Dol Guldur to investigate this necromancer that gave everyone in the area grief for the past two hundred or so years. Thráin, broken, raving and dying had forgotten his name and the wizard didn’t recognize him as Thrór’s son, took both key and map from him and promised to hand them to his son. The quest happened in TA2941 (!!!!!) which means it took Gandalf a good ninety years to figure out that said son was Thorin Oakenshield. We know that Saruman was the Dwarrow expert, having been close to Mahal: why in the fickeling fickles hasn’t Gandalf gone to blooming Isengard to ‘consult with the head of his order, who is both wise and learned in many things’ or asked Elrond or Galadriel (yo, look what I found on that one still-alive-but-slightly-nutty prisoner in Dol Guldur, recognize it by any chance?)  
> According to the books, Gandalf never told Thorin where and in what state he had found Thráin all those years back. He may well have felt that Thorin would want to avenge his father but that Thorin’s focus was better directed at getting rid of Smaug and reclaiming Erebor instead of running after Sauron in a huff.  
> Peter Jackson obviously didn’t like that plot point either (can’t blame him - and in Tolkien’s defense: he had planned a comprehensive overhaul of all his writings regarding Khazad history) and changed it in the movie so that Gandalf believed Thráin to be dead, already had the map and the key (we don’t know from where or since when) and only found him when investigating Dol Guldur as the quest is already on the way. Since in canon it’s Dain who becomes King of Erebor we don’t know whether Gandalf ever tells anyone about Thráin’s fate, but we can assume he would have. I’m meddling happily with canon timelines in this story and largely left out anything Sauron, kept the essence of Gandalf’s idiocy - and Thráin will get his redemption.  
> This story is finished - only the last few chapters need editing - and will be updated fairly quickly. I won't promise specific days though, because life.

_Excerpt from ‘Of the Quiddity of Ones - an Anthology of Tales’ by Író, Master Librarian of Khazad-Dûm, Headscribe of Durin II, King of the Longbeards and High King of all Khazad:_

_“... The two parts of one soul art burning with their owneth individual flames but inevitably flick'ring towards each oth'r. Impossible to sep'rate f'orev'r, nay measureth of distance or distraction can diminish the connection, coequal 't be true if both draweth breath on diff'rent planes of existence, their’s is a supremely deep and pow'rful connection, fuell'd by divine en'rgy of the highest leveleth. From bef're their creation their liveth art fated to converge and one day they shall crosseth paths as if 't be truely guided by the secret steps of an unheard cosmic music. Coequal the most pragmatic won’t beest able to shaketh the senseth of these ultimate heights of spirituality. The senseth of inevitability once meeting for the first timeth, the moment of recognition; a quite quaint collision, hath followed soon by a connection on ev'ry leveleth. Nay past bethought or humour, nay feareth, nay dreameth is theirs and theirs high-lone any longeth'r. Crossing over yond threshold of being a sole entity to being a united, merged unit radiates heateth yond can be felt by all yond art did touch by their existence._ _A loveth yond reaches to the depth and breadth and height of their unit'd souls._ _A loveth with all the breaths, smiles and drops of sorrow of life._ _A loveth yond won’t alt'r, won’t be shaken, won’t ev'r kicketh the bucket._ _Blessed Ones, as Mahal wilts it ... “_

Balin gently closed the brand new-looking, slim book and placed it on the large marble table, right next to another volume of similar slimness. The latter appeared to be an ancient edition, bound in a cover of metal cloth woven from the finest strands of gold and silver. That craft in itself was an art long lost, but the magnificent cover was nothing compared to the exquisite pages that were stitched together with gold thread inside the book: finest vellum and inks of outstanding quality, dusted with fine powders of precious metals. The letters of the text found within were written with graceful swirls that intertwined in complex patterns, forming runes in ancient Khuzdul, a language now only known to very few, of the scholarly type. Each beginning chapter was graced with a cover depicting a detailed image; figures and background drawn with exquisite detail in rich black ink and decorated with accents in gold, silver and Durin blue.

Alas, the ancient volume had seen better days, as the metal cloth had tarnished over the centuries, the vellum was brittle and damaged in parts, the inks faded and some of the pages had loosened from the stitching of the spine. Tracing a careful finger over the single rune that graced the cover, the rune for _One_ , sewn there with precious Mithril, Balin sighed.

“You have outdone yourself, Ori,” he addressed the young dwarf before him with a kind smile. Ori, well esteemed member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, had come a long way from the shy, timid scribe he had been in Ered Luin. Now holding the positions of Master Librarian and Keeper of Records in Erebor, Ori was a dwarf on a mission, working tirelessly on assessing and categorizing the vast collection of books and scrolls in Erebor’s library. Parts of the library had been damaged by fallen walls and collapsed pillars, battering many books beyond repair, but the dragon’s fire, at least, had spared the irreplaceable collection. Restoration was ongoing and even ten years after the death of the miserable worm not anywhere near finished.

Of the countless books and scrolls Ori evaluated there were many one could classify as ‘this-one-better-had-been-squashed-by-rock’; some days Balin would happily commit some of the volumes of the rather painful accounts of council meetings under Thrór to the fire in his hearth himself. Thorin, he knew, would not even bat an eye at such blatant disrespect shown towards transcripts the returning Nobles of the Iron Hills happily quoted to back up some of their ridiculous demands. In fact, Balin had a suspicion that the rows of records in that brand-new section of the library were significantly diminished compared to the vast space they used to occupy in the old library.

Another reason why he liked Ori and valued his efforts.

“It is exquisite work,” he continued, his smile deepening when Ori took the praise with a pleased bob of his head instead of the furious blushing he would have been prone to back in Ered Luin, all those years back.

“With the King’s permission I have formed a task group, which includes Masters of Cloth, Bookbinding, Weaving, Inkmaking and Scrivening, to determine as much as we can from this book which holds Író’s words. None of us detect someone who could be Író, but an array of skilled Craftsman who have created this masterpiece according to Író’s specific wishes.”

Balin nodded, pleased. Yes, Erebor’s librarians weren’t the only ones excited with the discovery of this book: Masters of all areas were keen on using their particular skills and makansul to delve deep into their senses, trying to learn as much as possible about the long-forgotten steps that would enable them to once more craft a books of equally exquisite quality. Balin’s own things sense was not overly strong, and only let him sense that whoever held the quill to write the words had been of middle age, male, and in a room deep under Zirakzigil.

“And I am still working on several more copies, as per the King’s request,” Ori informed him, “Ready to be gifted to representatives of the other clans, or to friends of the Kingdom Under the Mountain.”

Balin acknowledged the information with a nod. Indeed, copies of this work of Író, generally called Zirizarrab, would be an exceptional gift.

Író, whose works of prose and poetry were well known and much loved.

Író, whose Khuzdul primer was _the_ book for all dwarflings and damlings to learn their runes.

Író, who turned out to be not just a gifted author but Master Librarian of Khazad-Dûm, Headscribe of Durin II, King of the Longbeards and High King of all Khazad.

That in itself had been a surprising fact when Ori had discovered the dilapidated small book in the damaged section of Erebor’s library. The content of the thin volume, however, had been what really had everyone in a stir. For while all Khazad were taught that the Seven Fathers had woken alone, it was considered common knowledge that at some stage Mahal crafted pairs of dwarves and dwarrowdams from the same stone and split one soul between them, which they shared in a True Bond, Író’s text suggested strongly that pairs of Durin’s line were designed to bond differently. The compilation of Blessed Bonds from the Second Age listed two score such bonds and described in detail how they each met and how their bond was one of heart, mind and spirit.

The only such bond Balin had ever heard of are Glóin and his Fárni. To everyone it had ever seemed unique, particularly favoured, but inexplainable. To read that such a bond was not at all unique and once was far more common, was a revelation, and not only in a scholarly way. Once more Balin found himself bemoaning the loss of knowledge at the sacking of Khazad-Dûm, and Erebor. While it was common knowledge that dams had been given the divine power to recognize the One Mahal has crafted as the other half of their soul, it was new and somewhat ... mind blowing that those of Durin’s line should be especially blessed.

Marriages outside Mahal’s bonds had happened often during the past centuries, not surprisingly so, considering that the Khazad clans had little to no contact amongst each other and Durin’s folk lived at the very edge of poverty and despair in camps before finally settling in Ered Luin; dwarrowdams generally had little chance to run into the One Mahal crafted for them if he was not from their immediate circle. As such, many couples had seen fit to come together in organized unions, out of convenience, for the additional protection it provided for the dam and for the continuation of both partners’ family lines. True Bonds were rare these days, and Blessed Bonds, as mentioned in the works of Író - apart from Glóin and Fárni - all but unheard of.

Indeed, Balin was certain that he’d be in a state of shock if a dam would recognize him as hers now, at his age, to say the least. Nobody could be sure, of course, their people’s knowledge about Ones had diminished significantly over the ages, just like the knowledge about much else, but Balin was reasonably certain that he did not have a Soulmate anywhere.

For Balin, that kind of restless tug had never existed. And a dam to form a Blessed Bond with ... well, he knew all the Longbeard dams in Ered Luin and Erebor and none had ever come forward to claim him; it was unlikely to happen now.

Yet, I Író’s ‘ _Of the Quiddity of Ones_ ’ would be reviving the romantic notions of many a dwarf, Balin was sure. Gruff and hard folk as they may be, a nation of warriors now more than crafters and artisans, the thought of two souls merging as per Mahal’s will, was the culmination of many a life’s dream.

.

..

...

....

.....

Quiddity: noun; mainly Philosophy; the inherent nature or essence of someone or something

Anthology: noun; collection, compendium

Író – Hungarian for ‘writer’

Zirizarrab - Golden Writings

makansul - that which is sensed = thing sense

Zirakzigil - Celebdil (Silvertine) – one of the mountain tops above Khazad-Dûm

Ok, I’ve opted for Shakespearean English for the Ancient Khuzdul text. I’m not an English native speaker, and I never had Shakespeare-stuff at school. My grown-up boys are, and did, and they earned their board one month by helping me out here a bit. We also consulted <https://lingojam.com/EnglishtoShakespearean>, which has been heaps fun. Try it and be prepared to get a little sidetracked. For ease of understanding the text (because we felt it is a bit difficult if you don’t have the original in front of you) we’ve changed a few things to our liking :)

Also: it’s about a thousand years from the fall of Khazad-Dûm to the Battle of Five Armies and about five hundred from Shakespeare to now in our time – I think its safe to say that everyday Dwarrow would indeed have a difficult time to grasp, not only the language of their ancestors, but also much of their daily routines and craft knowledge. 

And let’s remember how old Khazad-Dûm actually was when it fell: Durin founded it sometime during the Years of the Trees (probably even before Galadriel was born, imagine!). Then FA was about 590 years long, SA about 3.400 years, in TA it was 2.900 years until BOFA. Basically, parts of Khazad-Dûm would have been older than the oldest cities in our world. Sorry, getting a little carried away … But it’s fascinating! I love history, so yeah.

This chapter also hints on a certain lack of knowledge of Khazad regarding their history, especially the very early one and all to do regarding the Seven Fathers (If Mahal crafted pairs of dwarves and dwarrowdams from the same stone and split one soul between them, how did this work for the Seven Fathers, since they woke alone?). In this story I’m trying to explore how different people know different things, often make assumptions about things they don’t truly know (just like real life) and how they may or may not be ready and willing to change their opinions once they learn facts that they may or may not like at all.


	2. Nori’s Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin is forced to remember things he tried to forget

(Balin)

Without looking up from the half yearly report handed in by the Overseer of Mine Security he was currently reading - the fellow had the worst script and Balin considered suggesting a scribe to aid the dwarf with these kinds of tasks - Balin took the wad of parchment Thorin held out to him from across the desk.

“I will not read another report about disputes concerning the alleged illegitimate offspring of mountain goats,” the King said firmly and in a tone that made it clear this was not negotiable.

Bilbo, to Balin’s right behind his own desk which had been pushed against Thorin’s massive oaken one, sniggered, equally not looking up from the parchment he was currently writing on. Thorin cut a pretend glare to his Royal Consort, which was duly ignored.

“Why don’t you delegate the whole goatish affair to someone else?” Bilbo asked as he finished his writing with a flourish and sat back in his chair. “Permanently.”

Thorin nodded. “Yes, I think it is time to let go of that particular trope. Let’s give it to Gimli.” The King gave a savage little grin. “He can practice his patience with this.”

Balin huffed a laugh. His cousin’s son was a good lad, but about as patient as a hungry Hobbit before dinner time.

Bilbo grinned, too, but shook his head. “Not Gimli. He’s coming to the Shire with us this year, he won’t have the time. Besides, he’d likely volunteer himself to work in the Greenwood so he could be away from the mountain and the dangers of ... um ... goat disputes. And you’d have an upset Glóin to deal with.”

Dipping his chin in acknowledgment without losing his amused expression Thorin fondly looked at his Consort, who sweetly smiled back, not caring that the Royal Advisor was right there. Balin didn’t mind. He’d much rather be caught between his King and Consort amorous oglings and sappy smiles than the brooding grumpiness (Thorin) and irritated foot tappings (Bilbo) of the past.

A past ten years gone now. Ten years since the Battle of Five Armies. Ten years since the dragon sickness. Ten years since Erebor was reclaimed. Ten years since Thorin and the boys were left grievously wounded, with many months until their full recovery. Ten years since Bilbo Baggins agreed to stay in Erebor and almost as long for Thorin to be crowned King of Durin’s Folk and all Khazad and the Hobbit to become his husband and be crowed Royal Consort. That had been a glorious day indeed.

“I forgot that Gimli is coming with us this time,” the King acknowledged to his Consort with a nod and a smile. “But someone really should take over the goats permanently.”

Bilbo waved his hand nondescript before folding the parchment before him and sealed it with the seal stamp of his position. “I’ll think of someone. Someone who’ll be delighted about the honour bestowed onto them by their King. Don’t you worry.” The Hobbit scratched his nose thoughtfully, looking as if he was already going through a list of names in his head.

“There’s little to worry about with you by my side, my Bilbo,” the King said, voice nearly a purr.

“Yes, well, I’d say you change your tune once we’re back in the Shire and I’m putting you in charge of the widows and spinsters, since you’re proved yourself useless keeping a reign on the young folk while protecting the cake table.”

Balin chuckled. At their first visit to the Shire the King Under the Mountain had been asked to keep young hobbits away from cakes meant for the Mid-Year’s Day Feast until the celebrations were officially underway. Thorin had wholly underestimated Hobbit teens’ tenacity when it came to food, and sweets at that, as well as their creativity to get to their goal. It had left the King red faced, the Consort fondly exasperated and the Midsummer Feast without cakes.

“Withstanding fauntlings’ charms is not my forte,” Thorin confessed in a mutter and ran his hand through his beard that had grown back to an impressive length since he stopped cutting it after reclaiming Erebor.

“Indeed.” Bilbo’s face had softened at the memory of Thorin sprawled on the grass and little ones crawling all over him, weaving flowers into his hair and beard, teens and cakes forgotten.

“Speaking of your upcoming travels,” Balin cleared his throat, “The Lord of Ered Luin is delighted that you have announced your visit once more and asks if it is convenient that he organize a ball.”

“He only wants to organize a ball in the hopes that any of the dams in Ered Luin recognizes one of my Heirs as their One. Does the Lord of Ered Luin know that neither are coming with us this time?”

“He does, but as he’ll undoubtedly be aware that their places in your retinue will be filled with others, I guess he still hopes for some dams to find their match.”

“It’s only going to be Gimli,” Bilbo clarified, shuffling parchments about, “And us, obviously, you and Dwalin and whichever soldiers he selects for the journey. I’m afraid, this year, the Lord of Ered Luin will be disappointed.”

“He’ll live,” Thorin declared calmly, “And it will do young Gimli good to be fawned over by dams for once, even if no bond comes of it - he’s ever had to be contempt being in the shadow of my Heirs. If any of the soldiers find their match I’ll be happy, and the Lord of Ered Luin won’t have a choice but to be happy as well, as it’s unlikely going to be you or your brother to find their One amongst his dams.”

Balin only nodded.

Bilbo lifted a parchment which showed a lengthy list. “I have already written to Hamfast,” Bilbo said, ticking an item off said list, “He is expecting us any time after mid-Astron.” Balin could never finish praising Mahal for the hobbit’s organizational skills. Since Bilbo Baggins it felt like his constant battle to keep the Durins organized and in line was far more fruitful.

“We’ll send a raven once we cross the Misty Mountains,” Thorin responded easily, focusing on his own papers once more.

The candles flickered.

“What brings you by, Nori?” Balin asked without turning his head.

Thorin didn’t blink but Bilbo startled badly with a small squeak, knocking over his inkwell, spilling ink over his parchments. The Royal Consort shot a glare at the Spymaster, who sauntered closer and plonked himself on the edge of the royal desk without any sense of protocol. Bilbo hastily moved empty sheets of parchment in an attempt to soak up the mess.

Nori cackled, entirely without remorse.

Balin sighed.

“I assume you’re here for a reason other than to cause a mess?” Thorin grunted, passing his Consort some more parchment to aid him.

Balin watched Nori’s carefree attitude change suddenly, the cocky grin turning serious and the slouchy posture vigilant.

The King noticed, too. He straightened in his seat. “What is it?” he asked, alert.

Nori slipped off the desk and pulled a package from inside his coat. About half an arm long, wrapped in cloth and secured with string. A knife? Balin thought, judging by the size and shape. The Spymaster held it carefully, almost hesitantly. Balin narrowed his eyes, concerned. _Nori is never hesitant._

“This,” Nori balanced the package in his hands for a moment before offering it to the King with an unusually respectful bow, “has fallen into my hands. I have a suspicion about it. But I need you to confirm it, your Majesty.”

Thorin slowly took the package. As soon as it was in his hands, Nori stepped back respectfully, eyes glittering, body taut.

The King pulled at the knot and unraveled the string cautiously. Then he unwrapped the cloth.

Balin leaned forward, feeling both curious and concerned.

Removing the last fold, Thorin looked over the item briefly in an inspecting manner for a moment without directly touching it before his eyes settled on one specific point; all colour drained from his face and he sucked in a breath. “How came you by this?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Bilbo was on his feet in an instant and stood with the emotional King, a soothing hand on his shoulder. “What is it?” the Hobbit asked, leaning over him in an attempt to see better.

Thorin slowly and reverently placed the cloth with a long, broad knife with a serrated blade on the desk before him.

Balin’s eyes narrowed. His knowledge of forging was basic, but as all children of Mahal he had the instincts for it. He just never had the hunger to hone his skill in this craft, unlike his younger brother Dwalin. Steel, he thought, good work by the looks of it, but an oddly shaped grip. Still, an ordinary knife, with a small handle at that and a serrated blade.

“A breadknife?” Bilbo asked incredulously.

_Aye, that’s what it is._

Thorin locked eyes with Nori. The Spymaster stood very still. “How,” the King asked again, his voice deep and with authority, “did you come by this?”

“This knife fell into my hands through some channels you don’t want to know about,” Nori said carefully, “As I said, I had a suspicion. You have confirmed it. The question is, how is it that there is in existence a hobbit-sized breadknife with the maker’s mark of Thráin, son of Thrór?”

“What?” Balin got to his feet. He couldn’t believe his ears. _Impossible!_ “That must be a mistake!”

“You suggest I don’t recognize the mark made by my own father’s hands?” Thorin bit out.

Balin lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture. “I don’t.” He fell back into his chair heavily. The last time he saw Thráin, son of Thrór, was when he was part of a group of selected warriors that accompanied the then King from Ered Luin across the Misty Mountains, in an effort to reach Erebor. Thráin had wanted to scout out the Lonely Mountain, see if the dragon was still there. See if there was a way in. Now Balin knew of course, that Thráin had known about the secret map and its contents, had known about the secret door, and had held the key. Thráin handpicked the warriors that accompanied him, and Balin and Dwalin both were selected. It was an honour, of course, and a curse, for it was a fool’s errand but there would have been no honourable way to refuse going. Thráin, however, was not Thorin, and fate was not ready to give them back Erebor. The whole journey had been a disaster. Balin still couldn’t fathom that what took the Company of Thorin Oakenshield merely six months had taken years under Thráin’s command. Almost from the onset they were hunted, beleaguered and attacked by dark forces, day and night. And then, at the outskirts of Mirkwood, Thráin had vanished. For weeks they searched for him and found no trace. It took the surviving handful of them nearly another year to make it back to Ered Luin, to report to Thorin and tell him he was now King of Durin’s folk. The strain and the dark memories of that journey had never quite left Balin, nor Dwalin, he knew.

“It’s impossible,” Balin whispered, wiping a wearied hand over his face.

Thorin nodded, his eyes intense. “Yet, we are looking at it.”

Nori flexed his fingers. “My contact recognized the mark and was wise enough to deliver the knife to me. But I am also told that this is but one item of many.”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose. “Are you telling me there is demand on the black market for items which bear my father’s maker’s mark?”

Giving a brief nod, Nori held the King’s gaze. Eventually Thorin looked back down on the knife he had not yet touched. Finally lifting it up with his hands Thorin now examined it closely, running his strong fingers slowly over the grip and along the blade, touching every groove, every ridge, lingering at the small stamp near the hilt that declared that this knife was forged by Thráin, son of Thrór. The King’s face took on the far-away look most Dwarrow got while focusing on makansul, their thing sense, that intuitive awareness their Maker had instilled in most of them, letting them learn intimate details about an object to do with their Mastery, details that were hidden to the naked eye.

“I have no doubt,” Thorin said quietly after a long time, his clear gaze focusing on the knife again, “that this was made by my father’s own hands.”

“But I thought you said your father didn’t like forge work?” Bilbo asked, confused, familiar enough with makansul to not ask _how_ Thorin knew.

“That is correct,” Thorin responded, “Both my father and my grandfather looked at blacksmith work as beneath them. Of course, being dwarves they both were quite capable and did their basic training with steel, it is in our very blood after all. But even in our Wandering Years neither of them ever came close to a steel forge, both busier bemoaning the loss of gold, which my grandfather favoured as a craft, and silver, which was my father’s calling.” He looked back down at the knife in his hands, running a finger along the back of the serrated blade. “What’s more though: this knife is no more than fifty years old.”

Bilbo gasped. “How ... how is that possible?” he asked.

“How indeed?” Thorin repeated, looking at Balin.

Balin pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather his bearings. Moments like this made him feel his age; in his younger years he would have been coping with unexpected news - shocking news - much better than he did now.

“Your father would be ... how old now?” Bilbo questioned.

Opening his eyes Balin held Thorin’s gaze. “307 years old,” he whispered, shaking his head. “A most blessed age, even for our kind.”

“If Thráin forged this blade, a hobbit-sized breadknife, around fifty years ago, he would have to be somewhere around Hobbits. Which means the Shire, or Bree. Why would he not have come home? To Ered Luin? To his family? When he already assumedly was West of the Misty Mountains?” Thorin asked quietly, his expression pained, no doubt thinking of all the yeas he searched for his father, in vain.

Bilbo squeezed his shoulder and patted his arm in consolation. “There could be any number of reasons,” he said in an attempt to soothe the King.

“Aye,” Thorin whispered, “And each one as difficult to fathom as the next.” He hung his head, his long hair shielding his face.

Bilbo looked at Balin beseechingly, but when he saw his deeply upset expression and realized that nothing would come from the Royal Advisor the Hobbit focused his attention on Nori. “You said this is one item of many,” he clarified.

Nori nodded.

“Get your hands on as many as possible, without causing a stir,” the Hobbit ordered firmly.

Nori’s eyes narrowed and he looked at the King for a moment, as if waiting for confirmation. But the King didn’t raise his head, so Nori’s eyes shot back to the Royal Consort. He gave a court nod and a bow and was gone as quickly and quietly as he had come.

*

Nearly half a year later they sat together in Dís’ dining room, after enjoying a family dinner to celebrate her birthday. Food had been plenty and delicious - as it was want to be when Bilbo took charge of the kitchen. Balin sat back in his chair, feeling drowsily content, overlooking the room. Fíli and Kíli argued over a game of card, each accusing the other of cheating. Their respective arguments for their innocence became more hilarious by the minute and Dís laughed tears while Thorin had his head in his hands in mock despair. Dwalin sat next to Bilbo, both smoking their pipes, in deep discussion about the qualities of various pipe weeds. Ever since the kingdom had learned the Royal Consort liked his smoke Bilbo was gifted with pipe weeds from all over Arda. It was more than he could smoke in a lifetime, but he dutifully sampled them - with Dwalin’s help - only for both of them to fall back on Longbottom Leaf with a contented sigh each and every time.

Balin smiled. Life was good. Life was peaceful. He was content. He was happy.

That’s when his eyes fell on Nori, silently standing in the shadow of the room. Briefly, Balin wondered if the spy ever slept. Then a sense of dread settled in his stomach.

Dwalin, ever in tune with his brother and too much of a warrior not to pick up on a change in the room, looked up and, once he read Balin’s expression, followed his line of sight and spotted Nori. The warrior tensed and grimaced. Balin almost laughed. His little brother would never be able to wrap his head around the fact that Nori was no longer a thief he _could_ not catch but a spymaster in the service of his King he was not _allowed_ to catch.

Thorin noticed the change in the room next, of course. Nori locked eyes with the King. “Is this a good time?” he simply asked, and the weight of that question suddenly hung heavy in the air. Because Nori would not ask that question, wouldn’t really show his face tonight if he didn’t really think he should be here and give his report right now. Nori didn’t care much about tact, but Balin could appreciate that he gave Thorin a way out, if the King wished to take it. He suppressed a sigh, preparing himself for another blow of some kind.

“Go ahead,” Thorin said gravely - and predictably - and stood.

Nori bowed his head and made a motion over his shoulder. Three dwarves walked in, each looking plainer and more unobtrusive than the next, carrying amongst them several heavy wooden chests and placing them on the floor near the table. Then they left and Nori shut the door behind them.

When he faced the room, everyone had gotten to their feet. Bilbo moved closed to Thorin, leaning against his arm in silent comfort.

“ _‘Get your hands on as many as possible, without causing a stir’,_ ” Nori quoted, looking at the Hobbit. “That’s what you told me to do when I brought you the breadknife.” He motioned at the chests. “This is what I have managed to retrieve up to now.”

Thorin’s face became grim and he took Dís hand when she reached for him. They had not withheld Nori’s news from the Princess, nor the lads. Nor Dwalin. The breadknife had been handed around and thoroughly investigated. Dís had little makansul, and none when it came to weapons, but even she could sense her Adad’s presence in the knife. The boys, who had never met their Sigin’adad, sensed nothing but the components of the steel. Dwalin had agreed with Thorin. The knife was forged by Thráin no longer than fifty years ago and the maker’s mark was the one Thráin had forged himself when he obtained his Mastery in Silversmithing. Dwalin had been quite shattered by that news. Balin knew his little brother had taken the disappearance of Thráin in the damned Mirkwood even more to heart than he had. He was the Guard Captain, the King’s bodyguard, he took it particularly seriously, as it happened on his watch no less.

Now his Naddith stepped forward, as ever meeting a challenge head on. After a questioning look at Thorin and the King’s acquiescing nod Dwalin and Nori opened the chests. Fíli and Kíli swiftly moved plates and cutlery out of the way and several blankets were spread out to protect the polished wooden surface, before Dwalin and Nori lay out what was in those chests, piece by piece.

Balin stared and shook his head, astonished.

There were several swords and axes and an astonishingly large array of knives and daggers, but also household items and tools: a fire poker, a shovel, pliers, tongs, a hammer, hinges and doorknobs, a door knocker, a trivet, a ladle, hooks, horseshoes, hair pins, a skillet, a copper pot and an iron rose, of all things. Apart from the weapons all items were Hobbit sized.

It was baffling.

Thorin swallowed audibly and took a sword, inspecting it, delving into makansul. After a moment he handed it to Dwalin, who examined it equally closely, eyes going distant, before testing its weight and swing and putting it down with a grunt and picking up another one.

“It’s all good work,” Thorin said after thoroughly examining every piece, his hands running over the smooth edges of the rose and the maker’s mark at the end of the stem, “But all made by a number of different hands. Only the Hobbit items have been forged by my father’s hands. And this,” he held up the rose, looking at it curiously before handing it to Dís.

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed gravely, “it’s all good work, solid. And the weapons bear Thráin’s mark but they have definitely been crafted by others, and far more recently than the household items.”

“No dwarf would ever forge anything for a Hobbit unless he actually knows about Hobbits,” Bilbo said eventually, holding up the copper pot, “You said it yourself,” he dipped his chin at Thorin, “In all your years as wandering smith it never occurred to you to come to the Shire. You went to the towns of Men, to forge swords and knives and nails for minimal pay when you could have forged skillets and plows and door knobs in return for quality food which Hobbits happily would have supplied you with for the quality work you do. You know we do not really like to handle coin, but we excel in barter.” He lifted the copper pot in his hands. “This is an excellent pot. And it has been used. All of these items have been used. They were either made on order or for a specific place.” He motioned over the table. “There are no doubles. It’s like someone went to Bag End and started removing anything that has been forged.”

“So what are you saying is ...” Dís swallowed audibly, reverently running her fingers over the rose, “... that our Adad made the Hobbit items, but not the weapons? That the weapons were made by forgers, using his maker’s mark?”

Thorin locked eyes with Dwalin and nodded grimly as the warrior folded his arms over his massive chest with a grunt. “Aye, that is what we’re saying.”

“No dwarf just hands over his maker’s mark,” Fíli said slowly, “No dwarf would dare use another maker’s mark. No dwarf would dare use _Thráin’s_ maker’s mark, it’s not done; we take an oath on that when we receive our mastery.”

“Which means,” Kíli continued, “Since Thráin made the Hobbit items ... it was not a dwarf who forged the weapons?”

Dwalin shook his head firmly, again reaching for a small axe. “No, definitely Khazad made. The metal says so.”

“Who would dare?” Kíli sounded outraged. Balin shared a tiny smile with Thorin. Bless the young dwarf, he was still so innocent, despite everything he had seen and lived through.

“There is such a thing as crooked dwarves,” Nori interceded with a wry little grin, clearly thinking along the same lines. “Mastery oaths or Thráin’s maker’s mark or not. Call it greed, call it just another way of earning money. These items go for a lot of coin on the black market. The ladle alone cost me ten silver. You don’t even want to know how much I paid for the swords.”

Bilbo gasped. “Ten silver ... Sweet Lady!

“Someone is using our father’s maker’s mark to get rich,” Dís stated, anger flashing in her voice. Then her face fell. “I don’t understand why he never came home to us.”

“The Hobbit items are personal,” Balin said carefully, searching for Thorin’s eyes, “Hairpins, the rose.” He shook his head. “These are not things a customer orders from a smith. These were crafted with purpose.”

“What are you saying?” Thorin nearly growled.

Balin sighed. “I am saying that when Thráin disappeared in Mirkwood he was a very troubled dwarf. His mind was all over the place. He was confused, his moods changed from angry to placid in mere moments. His orders made no sense anymore,” Balin rubbed his forehead, “You remember what state we were in when we came home, Dwalin and I. If Thráin survived all these years he would have been in the wilds for a long time, on his own. Mahal only knows how that would have affected him. There are no Hobbits East of the Misty Mountains. If he somehow made it back to the West and _somehow_ ended up near or in the Shire, he would obviously have lived very hidden, otherwise there would have been rumours.”

“I’d say,” Bilbo muttered, “A dwarf in the Shire? The news would have spread within a day.”

Balin sought his brother’s eyes. Dwalin held his gaze for a long while, grey eyes hard. Then he sighed deeply, his whole body deflated, his face shadowed with dark memories and the warrior fell heavily on a chair. “Aye,” he said lowly, “Bilbo is right, and so is Balin. Wherever Thráin forged these items he lived hidden. Had help. He didn’t forge these things to earn money. He forged them for a home. Maybe his mind never cleared again. Not enough to be Thráin, King of Durin’s folk. But maybe enough to be a dwarf that hears the metal’s song and feels the need to craft. Maybe enough to live in peace. He was old already when we lost him. And he forged the Hobbit items many decades ago. Only the weapons have been made recently. Which makes me think that wherever he was he may have been found out in the end. Maybe he went to Mahal’s Halls. And maybe someone, some Dwarrow, got their hands on the maker’s mark and decided to use it to make quick money. Those Dwarrow would have heard that Thráin’s son has reclaimed Erebor. They would know that they will be discovered sooner or later, and that the King would not look kindly upon their treachery. Whoever it is, they’re playing a dangerous game.”

“No honest dwarf would spend coin on an item forged by Thráin, that much is certain. Even though there are dishonest characters amongst our kin, all of this,” Nori gestured to the table, “was bought in markets of Men. All West of the Misty Mountains. One in Dale. But most in Rohan and in Bree.” He looked at Thorin. “I think it is a well-organized scheme. Items popped up sporadically, trickling like. No great quantities. A piece here, a couple more there. Sold by tinkers and small merchants, cautiously put into circulation. But something changed recently. Because most of the swords all came out in one go a few months ago, sold by a merchant coming from Bree.”

Thorin looked at him intently. “You believe the source is in Bree?”

Nori nodded. “I am certain. It makes sense. We’re assuming Thráin was close to Hobbits. Bree is close to the Shire. Which is why I ask leave to go to Bree. And I ask you to craft me several items, swords, axes, pots, pans, gardening tools, to take with me. Items bearing Thráin’s maker’s mark - with only a tiny change of the kind only an expert would recognize. I will set up shop in Bree. One of my people is already there, has been living there for some time now, working with the smith.”

“I know the smith in Bree,” Dwalin said, “Mottek. He’s a good dwarf. He’s worked hard to make a living there, amongst Men and Hobbits. It would be wrong to undo it all by ruining his reputation.”

Thorin nodded. “I know him as well. He is loyal to the Crown and his work is solid.” He eyed Nori. “If he’s still there and you deem him innocent in all of this explain the situation to him. Send him on an extended holiday, all expenses taken care of. Make sure he knows I’d be grateful for his assistance.”

“You think he’d agree?” Kíli sounded doubtful. “To leave his workshop just like that.”

Nori grinned. “I’m sure I can be persuasive enough. Plus, it’s never a bad thing to have a King owe you a favour.”

Dwalin snorted and frowned at Nori. “Even so. The people in Bree need a smith. You say that contact of yours is capable at the anvil? Would you have him continue working while Mottek is gone?”

Inclining his head in agreement Nori said: “Aye, my contact has earned his mastery with Mottek a couple of years ago, so even if I doubt he’s up to your high standards, he’s going to be good enough for this task me thinks. I don’t see the whole thing taking long. Once a few of our items hit the market and the news make their rounds we’ll be hit hard and fast, I wager. I mean to finish it equally hard and fast once I have all the information I need. You are leaving for the Shire early March. With a bit of luck, I can catch up with you in Bag End not long after.”

Thorin stroked his beard, thinking hard. As always, he made eye contact with each and everyone in the room, giving them a chance to voice their opinions. The lads nodded immediately. Balin couldn’t think of anything else, Nori’s plan was outrageously risky, but this was Nori’s expertise. If he suggested it and saw it as feasible then it was exactly that. Bilbo was thoughtful and concerned, about his husband and the risk the spymaster wanted to take but inclined his head in agreement. Dwalin looked unhappy as ever when Nori suggested one of his schemes, and grim, because knowing that Thráin was alive fifty years ago was a hard pill to swallow indeed. Thorin locked eyes with Dís the longest, until she set her chin and averted her eyes, the pain too much. Then the King nodded at Nori. “Very well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul from www.dwarrowscholar.com and my own word wranglings, any other info from Google and thanks to Tolkien and the various fan-sites.
> 
> mid-Astron - Mid-April according to Shire calendar  
> makansul – that which is sensed = thing sense  
> Sigin’adad - grandfather  
> Naddith – brother that is young


	3. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori enjoys an agreeable journey and puts all pieces in place

(Nori)

Nori made it to Bree six weeks later. He couldn’t remember the last time - actually ever - he had such an agreeable trip anywhere. It had been exceedingly pleasant to travel by pony all the way, not having to watch his back, steal to survive, run from orcs and wargs and not having to fear getting eaten by spiders and trolls - he wasn’t sure what it said about his life that he counted especially the latter as good things. Thorin had sent twenty of his best soldiers with him to get him across the Misty Mountains in the fastest possible way, without attracting the attention of all eyes in a caravan, that would have taken much longer through the Gap of Rohan on top of that. Elven guides had aided them through Mirkwood and halfway across the mountains. Rivendell sent a few scouts to report their way to Bree was clear. Nori took it as a sign that his King really was _very_ serious about finding out who mishandled his father’s maker’s mark, that he would even _consider_ asking Elves for aid, let alone actually _doing_ it.

Nori parted ways with the soldiers a few days before Bree, the packs with an assortment of finely forged items bearing a slightly altered version of Thráin’s maker’s mark strapped to two pack ponies, and slunk away in the shadows, leaving them to continue on to Ered Luin on their own, as ordered. He arrived in Bree well fed and as well rested as one could be when travelling on pony and sleeping rough for six weeks.

Bree was not Nori’s favourite place; however, not necessarily for the reasons one might expect.

He had been to many towns and villages of Men, some were better than the busy town at the major crossroads of the East Road, many were worse. What made Bree different was the mix of races. Nori would call it eclectic if he were the wordsy type and in an elaborate mood. Apart from the locals there were many Men that came from farther away, both savoury and unsavoury characters, conducting whatever business they came to do, legal and illegal both. Nori only had one rule when it came to Men: trust none. And since most Men didn’t know anything about Dwarrow and their customs Nori’s appearance was not a massive priority. So that rule was easy to follow and easy to maintain.

Hobbits were not a strange sight in Bree, even though the sort that resided here was far more aware of the bigger world than the Shire dwellers, but overall, they still were oblivious to the dangers they could face. Nori liked the Hobbits well enough even though he had never really had sought much contact, well, not since a Hobbit became his King’s husband. Now, Nori was quite familiar with the Hobbits residing in and around the Bree-hill of the town, which was altogether surrounded by a deep ditch and a hedge.

What could give Nori grief in Bree were Dwarrow. That was where it became tricky. Because Nori had to be much more careful. Because dwarves categorized their fellow dwarves by their braids, their beads, their family ties, their kin, their dialect. Which meant Nori had to fall into a character, dress and style his hair accordingly, watch his speech, and never fall out of it, not even in his sleep. From experience Nori knew that sticking to a lie was hard and the more outrageous the lie was the higher the danger was to get exposed by a silly little detail gone wrong. Which was why he stuck as close to the truth as possible - without telling the truth. He was to be a dwarf from Ered Luin, Skârbs, who had gone to Erebor after it was reclaimed, setting up a new life as a weapons smith. And now he was returning to Ered Luin to pick up his wife and young son and take them East over the mountains with him. Nori had to chuckle to himself at the thought of his ‘wife’. Dori with his motherhenning could well pass as a dam in Nori’s head and Ori was young enough that Nori could easily recount dwarfling stories that sounded credible if needed. As he was unlikely to meet Dwarrow from the noble precinct of Ered Luin in Bree he made his ‘wife’ the daughter of a wealthy, overprotective merchant, which would explain why none did know her, or him, should they come from Ered Luin themselves. And Erebor was busy enough, with Dwarrow arriving to settle and to trade all the time, nobody could possibly know everybody, not even Nori. As there was no nook and cranny Nori wasn’t familiar with in Ered Luin or Erebor, both, he could make up any story on the fly.

He entered Bree through the West Gate mid-morning, his usual three-peaked elaborate hairdo brushed out and put together in one single thick braid down his back; a hairstyle not unusual for smiths. His beard had been fashioned into something more Glóin-esk, all fluffed up and with plenty small beads to showcase his - faked - achievements in life.

Nori ignored the stable that was situated immediately after the gate, leading his ponies onwards to the forge, which was settled a few rickety market stalls farther into town. It was a bit out of the way, as forges were want to be, considering the potential high fire risk they posed in townships where houses were largely built from wood. Bree might well have houses constructed from stone, but their roof rafters and interiors were still wooden and highly flammable. It was prudent to be cautious.

Nori made it to Mottek’s forge just before it closed for lunch; amusingly, the other races largely had adopted Hobbit mealtimes. Nori had planned his arrival well; the streets were near empty and an overall quiet lay over the place.

“Ai-oy, wait up!” he called out just as a dwarf in a short-sleeved tunic and a thick leather apron was about to lift the front counter and shut up shop. The building was a sturdy construction with a ground floor built of stone - decidedly Dwarrow made - and a second floor made of solid logs. The forge and workshop could easily be opened up and closed through a series of foldable counters and awnings, the top floor held the smith’s living quarters. The building looked well taken care of, only the moss-covered roof tiles gave an air of age. Friendly but sharp eyes took him in, trailing over Nori’s braid and beard before eyeing the ponies with their packs.

“Jus’ made i’,” Nori made himself exclaim with a broad grin while flicking his fingers in a quick code sign and to give instructions while adopting the brogue of Ered Luinish middle class: _Need to speak with Mottek. Important. No delay._

The dwarf’s eyebrows raised imperceptibly up his high forehead but otherwise he gave nothing away. “Indeed you have, Master Dwarf,” he said slowly. “Although the owner of this forge is not overly fond of having his lunch delayed.”

“Who is?” Nori responded with an understanding grin before he bowed, putting on a nice show in case curious eyes were watching. “Skârbs, son of Skorb, at your service.”

”Kirvi, son of Marvi, at yours,” the dwarf answered politely, as if Nori didn’t know. Kirvi’s appearance – neat, dark brown beard braided into a single thick strand, the sides of his head shaved but the top section grown long and braided to hand low over his broad shoulders and back - was entirely dwarfish and perfectly deceptive for one in his secret occupation. The dwarf was several decades younger than Nori and liked to present himself as a good-natured, slightly dopey fellow that liked everything and everyone. His huge strength was that he, in fact, was a good-natured, slightly dopey dwarf that liked everything and everyone. That didn’t mean that he was dumb though. It also didn’t mean that he didn’t have very solid opinions about how Dwarrow should be treated by other races and should be treating each other and other races in turn. Indeed, Kirvi’s ‘honour threshold’, as Nori liked to call it, was nearly as high as that of the ridiculously honourable Durins. Not bad for a little gutter rat from Ered Luin. Nori and Kirvi had crossed paths occasionally in Ered Luin and the young dwarf had managed to hold on to his sense of integrity despite a harsh life. While he hadn’t mingled with the really bad crowd as Nori had, he had seen and done enough to have made a choice for his own life. After the regaining of Erebor it had taken Nori surprisingly little prompting to convince Kirvi to remain West of the Misty Mountains and only a few carefully forged letters to get him settled as apprentice under Master Mottek in Bree. Kirvi thrived in the position, loving the honest work of his day job, and in return had made himself invaluable as one of the main contacts to the Royal Spymaster of Erebor.

“I’ve business wit’ the owner o’ this forge, regardless o’ the hole in his stomach.” Nori declared, flicking _royal business_.

Kirvi scratched at his beard. “Come on then, Master Skârbs, let’s get your ponies settled and then I’ll introduce you.”

Not long after Nori found himself at a table opposite Mottek, the smith, a greying dwarf with massive shoulders and arms that showed a lifetime of his profession, his thick moustache growing into an equally thick beard, held together with leather bands just under his chin and at the height of his breastbone. On the top of his head it was brushed back and tied into a high coif at the back of his round. Mottek, who had his arms folded not unlike Dwalin, showing off nearly as impressive muscles, scrutinizing him with a frown not unlike Erebor’s Guard Captain; the smith clearly wasn’t happy about being disturbed during his lunch. Nori wanted to shake his head in amusement: Hobbits messed with everyone’s stomach! _Bilbo is going to love when I tell him._

It didn’t take long to explain the situation: that goods bearing Thráin’s maker’s mark had emerged and the King had ordered the culprits to be found. Nori didn’t mention anything about Thráin having been alive about fifty years ago, that was not information he was willing to divulge. He did explain, however, that the King himself had created a new maker’s mark, and an array of smithed goods, to trick the forgers, whom they suspected to be situated somewhere around Bree, and force them into action.

At the end of the explanation Mottek’s frown had deepened on his high forehad. “It is a dangerous affair,” he said slowly.

Nori wasn’t sure whether the dwarf meant the fact that someone had misused Thráin’s maker’s mark or the fact that the plan was to force the culprit’s hands. Not that it mattered. “Aye, it is,” he nodded instead, “And punishment will be harsh, make no mistake.” For that was certain; Thorin would not let anyone get away with using his Adad’s maker’s mark, even if the main objective, in a way, was to find out about Thráin’s life, fifty years ago.

Mottek looked at him long, thinking. “I remember the King when he was still Thorin Oakenshield, earning his coin as wandering smith. I’ve had him here, for a time, in my forge. He’s a good dwarf and he has my loyalty. But I’m not sure what he wants me to do?”

“And he remembers you,” Nori assured him quickly. “As does Dwalin, son of Fundin, a cousin of Thorin’s, his best friend and his Guard Captain.”

“Dwalin? Big dwarf. Bald, inked head, missing ear?” Mottek was surprised and Nori wanted to shake his head: the warrior never had drawn attention to his royal connection or his famous Adad, ever working on this own merits.

“Aye, the younger son of Fundin has made his own way for long in support of his kin and King. Few are stouter in their loyalty to the line of Durin.” It certainly wasn’t a lie. Dwalin and Nori might have had their issues in Ered Luin, but that was purely because Nori’s moral flexibility was far greater than Dwalin’s and not because Dwalin was flaunting his noble pedigree before the middle brother of an impoverished family of questionable Sires. “The King asks that you leave Bree, for the time being, giving your forge into my care. I intend to bring the fake items into circulation and follow any lead that might get me to uncover those guilty of misusing Thráin’s maker’s mark. The ruse is that I brought you news from a distant relative in Ered Luin, who has need of you as he feels his time to return to the Stone has come. You’ll have a handsome reward, and the King’s gratitude.”

“Fine,” Mottek said, after a long, heavy silence and after settling his eyebrows back into their normal place. “I’ll do it, as per my King’s wishes but I do not care for his reward; the King’s wishes should be any loyal dwarf’s command. So, I’ll go to Ered Luin for the time being. But I won’t deny that I’m loath to be leaving my forge, my livelihood behind.”

“It will be well taken care of, you have my word,” Nori promised.

Mottek looked doubtful. “Who will take care of my customers and their needs? And what of Kirvi? Will you have him travel with me? This place has come to be his home as much as it is mine.”

Exchanging a quick look with the young dwarf, Nori knew the answer. “Kirvi will remain. He’ll be taking care of your customers, a familiar face that will keep them at ease in your absence.”

“You’ll endanger him if you have him stay by your side,” Mottek frowned, “It’s not right and surely it’s not in the King’s interest either to have innocent folk entangled in such a dangerous scheme, loyalty or not.”

Nori wanted to sigh. Giving Kirvi a minute nod he leaned back in his chair.

“Is fine, Master Mottek,” the young smith soothed with a sheepish smile. “I’ve long known this dwarf, from a time in Ered Luin, and have kept in contact with him over the years. He’s well familiar to me, and so is his line of work.” Kirvi gave Mottek a meaningful glare.

Mottek sat silent, mulling this revelation over in his head for a while. Nori could tell when its meaning became clear to him, as his eyes widened and his expression became incredulous. Aye, spies were supposed to be short, thin and agile, their clothing plain and unmemorable. Common folk imagined them with intense, scrutinizing eyes, forever casting sly looks out from under a dark hood. Spies were imagined to be surrounded by a constant air of danger. For those reasons alone people generally harboured an inexplicable aversion to spies. When really, being a spy was a job like many others. While everyone would vow on their mountain and kin for patriotic reasons readily enough, those that did the same in their function as behind-the-scene investigator and information collector were frowned upon, called scoundrels and worse. True, often those working in the behind-the-scene and information collection business could not exactly be identified as first grade upstanding citizens, and many had a habit of changing their place of residence and appearance more often than Bilbo Baggins changed his handkerchiefs, but no matter how one looked at it, Kirvi most definitely didn’t fit the description of a spy, which explained Mottek’s disbelieving look.

“Master Kirvi and his services to the Crown are well regarded by the Spymaster of Erebor and the King,” Nori explained slowly and with great emphasis, knowing he gave away far more than he should, “I assure you. He will be pivotal in the execution of this plan, and I would not have suggested it to the King had I not known I could count on him.”

And that was that.

It took another day to set up the ruse good and proper, Mottek telling all and everyone about the misfortune of his distant relation in Ered Luin, before the smith had packed his bundle and finally went on his way. He seemed to have gotten over his shock regarding his assistant’s second, secret occupation quickly, Nori noted, pleased, observing the heartfelt farewell between the two dwarves.

“You alright, lad,” he asked the young smith later that day, when they busied themselves to fill the display shelves in the forge with the items Thorin had created.

“Aye, aye,” Kirvi mumbled around a few nails between his teeth as he worked to hang a set of axes, “Is all good. Mottek’s been good to me.” He paused for a moment. “Like an Adad would be I imagine. Don’t mean to let him down.”

“You won’t,” Nori told him with certainty, “And when this is over, might be time to bring your Zunshel here and introduce her. From what I hear she’s good and ready to settle down.”

He laughed heartily when Kirvi turned beet red.

When they went to bed that night Nori fell asleep quickly. All the pieces were in place, but he knew that for the immediate future it would be like nudging a small stone up a steep mountain slope. It would be tedious and take time, but invariably the avalanche would come down on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nori = Skârbs = Latvian: sharp, rough  
> Kirvi = from Latvian cirvis: axe   
> Mottek = colloquial, regional Ruhrgebiet: hammer  
> Zunshel – bird of all birds = girlfriend


	4. The Avalanche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things go according to plan and it’s not so clear whether that’s a good thing

(Nori)

Eight days later Nori found himself dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.

After spending the past week calling out to passing folk in greeting and rummaging about in Mottek’s forge with much bustle while Kirvi took care of the actual smithing work, Nori had patiently kept to his plan. Patience was the most important skill in his line of work, and Nori had it in spades. He also had a great instinct about things, and as long as his instinct told him he was on the right track he would be continuing with said plan. It almost made him smile when one of the swords Thorin had forged sold to a man who looked like he’d never had to actually use a weapon in his life even though he pretended to be an expert. And he did smile when two knives went missing after an errand boy delivered a message from the gate keeper - which turned out to be false. He’d well noticed the lad’s thieving fingers. He’d done well, Nori would give him that, for a Mannish boy, but it was nothing compared to Nori’s skills.

Kirvi and him went to bed that night, ready. Once Nori heard the floorboards creak he knew time had come and he steeled himself. He did his best to put up a fight without actually killing anyone or giving away his special set of skills. The men that pounced on him certainly were not gentle, on the contrary, but Nori was almost happy that it was _Men_ and not _Dwarrow,_ for didn’t that mean it was not a scheme thought up by Khazad?

His relief was so great that he almost didn’t mind getting pummeled rather savagely. It was not ideal when the bastards focused on his head more than anything else, and just before he passed out Nori couldn’t help but wonder whether his plan had been not so great after all.

*

He couldn’t say how long he lay blindfolded and tied up like a stuffed goose on the hard, cold floor in the corner they had tossed him into. He guessed it was two, maybe three days, judging by how his stomach lining began to rub against itself and how his tongue began to swell from thirst by the time he managed to stay conscious for longer periods of time. He didn’t know whether Kirvi was near or whether the smith had been left behind - or worse - and he was alone on this mission; whispered questions through the sack over his head only gave him silence in return.

Nori had gotten a beating or two in his life, but he had to admit that the men got him good. His ribs were hurting and while he was sure none were broken they sure were smarting something fierce. And even though he had that sack tightly over his head he knew that one eye was swollen shut from the punches to his head. Mahal curse them! They would pay for that, as sure as day came after night. Flexing his fingers carefully Nori listened. The dull sound of voices could be heard, from somewhere below. Which meant he was somewhere up. _Up where?_ A second floor? In a house? Or a barn?

Suddenly, hands were on him. Nori cursed under his breath. He had not heard anyone come closer. A mouth came close to his ear and shushed him. The hands began touching him gently and a small figure helped him into a sitting position. The hands were small, too. A child?

The rope that held the sack tight around his neck was untied, the sack moved up to free his mouth. “Drink, Master Dwarf,” a voice whispered, and Nori felt liquid trickle over his sore lips. He knew he had to take it slowly, otherwise he’d only be sick, but Mahal it was hard. As soon as the first drops of water touched his dry tongue and his taste buds could make out the sweet freshness he could barely restrain himself. But the small hands stopped him, a palm even covered his mouth at some stage to remind him to take it slowly.

Noise and voices from _downstairs_ became louder, there was cajoling and a lot of racket. Nori took the chance. “Where are we?” he rasped, “Who are you? Where is my companion?”

“We’re in Tanner’s compound, somewhere near Bree,” a soft voice said quietly. A female voice. “And I am a friend. And your companion is slightly worse off than you, but alive.”

A crashing sound, like splintering wood, followed by more cajoling startled the small person and the hands withdrew. “I have to go,” she breathed, pulled the sack back down over his face and tied it again. She tied it good, alright, only slightly less than the men had, but it was right to keep up appearance.

Hours seemed to pass.

Then heavy footsteps stomped upstairs and barged into his room. Nori was hauled to his feet and dragged along. Down the stairs, over wooden floorboards, then outside (a yard?), where he heard dogs barking, before he was in another building with more wooden floorboards. He was thrown into yet another corner and the sack was ripped off his head. Bright light hit his eyes and Nori squeezed them shut, hoping his good one would adjust soon.

A moment later more footsteps came close and a second person was thrown on the floor next to Nori, landing there with a pained grunt. Nori received a kick in the side and so must the other person have, judging by the huff as if air was knocked out of them.

“No talking, you two!” one of the Men ordered harshly, a wild looking fellow with shaggy hair and beard, followed by “Feed those bearded whelps, Halfling. But dregs only, you hear!” His comment was met with laughter from others that seemed to be nearby.

Wait, H _alfling_? A Hobbit? Here?

Nori knew well that Hobbits could be astonishingly resilient if they needed to be, Bilbo had proven that more than once, but it still irked him terribly that one of them should be in a hostile place like this, knowing that it wouldn’t be by choice.

Squinting, Nori blinked through the lashes of his good eye. He was in a room furnished with several tables and chairs; a few windows showed it was nighttime. Several Men sat around a table in the corner of the room. He assessed them quickly: brigands, lazy lumbering sods with a streak of cruelty, none of them had clean hands, all of them carried weapons, most of them looked as if they could handle themselves and weren’t afraid of taking a few punches, let alone dishing them out.

_Great_.

A door with pegs next to it, from which several coats hung but with plenty bare, seemed to lead to the outside. It was shut. Another door, slightly ajar, seemed to lead to a kitchen, Nori could see a table with bowls on it and a rack with pots hanging from the ceiling. Turning his head slightly Nori squinted at the person next to him. It was Kirvi. He was pale and his breath came in rasps, a gash on the shaved side of his head had dried with crusted blood and there were bruises on his cheekbones just above the beard, but his eyes were clear and alert, and he greeted Nori with a brief, grim nod.

A figure emerged from the kitchen and immediately Nori’s attention focused on it: trousers, a tunic, held together with a rope around the waist, and a red kerchief peeking out at the neck from a too large, many times mended overcoat. Bright blue eyes met his briefly before the Hobbit walked to the Men at a table in the corner of the room, serving them with food and ale from a tray she carried. Raven-black, thick curls were tamed into tight twin plaits at both sides of a fine, strangely familiar face.

Nori stared.

The back of his spine tingled, as it always did when he came across a puzzle. Why would a Hobbit lass be serving Men in what was clearly their domain, far off the trodden path? And why did this Hobbit lass seem oddly ... familiar?

His good eye followed her as she moved around the room, putting more logs onto the fire, darting quick glances at him now and then from under her lashes when nobody was paying attention to her.

She was a Hobbit, alright, and then again not. Bit too tall for one, with oddly squarish shoulders. And Nori had spent plenty of time scouting the Shire over the years and there had not been one Hobbit lass come across his path that wasn’t particularly buxom. Curvy hips, they all had. As did the raven-haired lassie he watched right now. But her bosom was far less ... voluptuous ... than that of other Hobbit lasses.

_More like a dam_ , Nori thought and his good eye widened in shock when he realized what he just had thought.

_Like a dam_.

His gaze bore into the lass. Just then she emerged from the kitchen, rolling an empty ale barrel from the room, returning moments later with a full one. The door to the kitchen was now wide open and Nori watched her pushing the barrel in its place under the bench and lifting it upright with apparent ease. Nori held his breath. She was strong, stronger than a Hobbit of her size ought to be. And she wore boots! _Normal_ sized boots for normal sized feet. No way a Hobbit’s thick-soled, hairy feet would fit into those boots.

She moved around the room as if she’d been doing it for a long time, keeping her posture submissive and averting her eyes from the Men. Disappearing into the kitchen she climbed on one of several short benches to reach the stove and soon returned with two bowls. Kneeling before him and Kirvi so that her back was towards the room she carefully put one bowl on the ground and held up the other. She dunked a spoon into some sort of stew and carefully offered it to him. “Hello, Master Dwarves,” she whispered, barely audible, giving them a small smile, “I am sorry you are here, it’s not the best place to be.”

Nori opened his mouth and took the offered food. When he looked into her eyes this closely his heart nearly skipped a beat. Blue eyes. Such an intense blue. A unique blue. A _distinct_ blue.

_It can’t be_.

“Hello, _friend_ ,” he mumbled lowly, guessing it was her that had brought him water.

She grinned a little and gave the tiniest nod, and another shock sucker punched him in the gut.

“What’s your name, lassie?” he asked in a whisper, pretending to shuffle a little more upright, having the hair from his messed-up braid hang over his face.

“Ruby, at your service, Master Dwarf,” she whispered back and fed him another spoon full. “Yours?”

“Nori, at your service,” he responded, following a hunch, “But Skârbs if they ask,” he added, motioning at the Men, giving her a little wink. She smiled a little, her blue eyes twinkling with definite cheek, and looked at Kirvi. “Kirvi, at your service, Mistress Ruby, no matter who’s asking,” his comrade mumbled quickly. She smiled again and gave him a little nod, but with a quick glance over her shoulder became serious again. “I advise you to not make trouble, Master Dwarves. It will be most painful for all of us if you do.” Her face clenched in a painful expression.

At that moment one of the Men yelled from his seat. “Halfling! Our plates are empty!”

She immediately put bowl and spoon down and darted to the kitchen, emerging soon with another full tray, serving the Men at their table. When they were once more focused on their meal she returned to their corner. Nori let her feed him without speaking. He needed the food. Obviously, the lumbering sods didn’t intend for him or Kirvi to die. Just yet anyway. He might as well gather all the strength he could get.

“How is it, that a lassie like you is in a place like this?” he asked her once she fed his comrade, keeping his face down and barely moving his lips.

“Not by choice, I assure you,” she whispered, leaning away a little.

A lie?

When he raised his eyebrow to prompt her to continue, she sighed. “They took me from my home and brought me here.”

“When was this, lassie,” Nori wanted to know, “How long have you been here?”

“It’s ten years this summer,” she whispered, her face a pained grimace, “Ten long years.”

Ten years! Nori’s mind whirled. The lass looked younger than Bilbo. In fact, she looked like a Tween. Which meant ten years ago she would have been ...

“How old are you, Ruby?” he asked, internally cursing himself for being so forward because that was not how you gathered sensitive information.

She threw him a shrewd look, neither intimidated nor offended. “In years or in experience?” she wanted to know, and Nori couldn’t help but laugh silently. Clever lass. She sighed. “Too young to be here, in either case,” she whispered.

Aye, Nori could agree with that. “What of your family?”

She fed another spoon full to Kirvi, slumping her shoulders. “They left my mother for dead when they took me,” she said, her hands suddenly shaking, nearly spilling the food.

“Your father?” Nori asked with bated breath, watching her closely.

She hesitated for barely a heartbeat, shooting him a quick glance. “He died long before that,” she said, in a clipped tone, looking away.

_Yep, definitely lying_. So either her father was still alive, or he did die at another point in time that was not ‘long before that’. Or it was something else entirely she was lying about.

The Men at the table laughed loudly and she shrunk into herself at the noise, making herself even smaller.

Nori had to risk another question. “Why are we here?”

Blue eyes stared at him astonished. “You don’t know?” she whispered back, and when he shook his head briefly, she explained, “You’ll be working in the forge, making weapons which _they_ will sell.” She indicated over her shoulder towards the Men.

“They can get any Dwarf for that,” Nori said with a scoff because he felt like gambling, “Why would they kidnap us? We’re attached Dwarves, with families that will miss us.”

She looked at him with sad eyes. “That’s what Urso said, too,” she whispered, “He ran away just before the first snows fell last year, but they caught him. They threw him to the dogs.” She clenched her teeth and screwed up her face. “It was awful,” she nearly choked on the words, eyes wide with terror. The lass threw a hasty little look over her shoulder before facing Nori again, her face pale. “So please, please, just do as they say.”

She couldn’t say anything else because the Men got up. Some left the room but two came over and she cowed away, taking her bowls and scurrying into the kitchen. Nori and Kirvi were grabbed without much ceremony and dragged out the room, across the yard and into another building. Dogs were barking like mad somewhere to the side and Nori only got a quick glance of a yard surrounded by several wooden buildings, dimly lit by a few torches. The building they were brought into had a large room with sectioned off parts that appeared to be sleeping quarters, filled with bunk beds and cots. A trap door was at the back of the room. One man wrenched it open while the other cut the bonds holding their arms together. “Better get some sleep, little beards, so you can earn your keep from tomorrow on.” They laughed, and Nori and Kirvi found themselves thrown down the hole.

Nori managed to role himself away at the landing, but the smith landed with a pained oomph. “You alright,” Nori asked after a moment in Khuzdul.

“Fell on my shoulder,” Kirvi groaned, “Bloody painful. But otherwise I’m ok.”

Dim light shone through a few cracks from the floorboards above and as soon as their eyes adjusted it was enough light for their Dwarrow eyes to make do. The hole they had been thrown down into was large enough to walk several steps either way and just high enough to stand. It was dry and clean. Small mercies, Nori thought. He hated the damp and he hated rats.

“Well,” Kirvi mumbled after dragging himself on one of two straw filled mattresses, “we are where we wanted to be.”

“Aye,” Nori agreed.

“What about the lass?” he asked. “It’s odd they would have a Hobbit in a place like this. I’ve not heard talk of any gone walkabout. One would think that someone would miss a pretty thing like her in the last ten years.”

“Aye, one would think that,” Nori muttered, saying nothing of this little suspicion nagging at the back of his mind.

“Not liking much what she said about that Urso fellow,” Kirvi added and stretched with a wince.

“Aye,” Nori said again. He didn’t like it either. Sounded like some poor Dwarf got himself a nasty end. It bugged Nori on a personal level that Men would have taken the life of a fellow Khazad and the Spymaster of the High King had not heard about it before now. Being crooks, possibly thieves if they indeed had Thráin’s maker’s mark, was one matter. Taking Dwarrow prisoners - and a Hobbit - was another, and taking lives another yet again. Nori liked those ruffians less and less.

“What do we do now?”

Running a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix his braid Nori dabbed at his swollen eyes with careful fingers. “Now we sleep. The lassie says we’re to work in the forge, so that’s what we’ll do. With luck we get through tomorrow. It will be a tossup between them either figuring out that they don’t need two smiths to do their work or that I in fact have no clue what I’m doing and am useless to them. We keep the ruse up for as long as possible. We eat when we can and we sleep when possible to heal and get our strength back. With luck we get some more information from the lassie. Ruby.” Nori rolled the name over his tongue.

“Not a very hobbitish name, innit?” Kirvi mused, rolling to his side with another wince.

“No,” Nori said slowly, twiddling his thumbs as substitute for flicking a knife, “No, Ruby isn’t a very hobbitish name.” His gut told him that she was the key. Somehow, she was the key to it all. And she was young, but she had survived in this place for ten years. She was a bit thin but otherwise seemed in good health, even though her eyes were sad. If she had told the truth - and his gut told him she did, at least in that regard - she was clever enough to stay alive and sane in captivity for a decade; Nori respected her immensely for that. Hopefully, he could continue to build a connection with her.


	5. Of the Predictability of Dwarrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori digs for the truth

(Nori)

The next morning Nori and Kirvi were hauled up from their prison hole and dragged back into the main building where Ruby was waiting for them with porridge and hot tea. The porridge was thin and watery and the tea not much better and the lass was nearly in tears for the quality of it, apologizing in whispers that she wasn’t allowed to give them more, proving she truly had Hobbit blood in her: it was against their nature to not provide people with good food, and plenty of it. It was a Hobbit thing and not one to be trifled with under the best of circumstances. An urge that could not be helped, like Dwarrow could not help themselves picking up a gem or Elves having to stare at the stars. And when the Men in the room turned their backs she glared at Nori and pointedly looked at their bowls. Nori lifted his surreptitiously and almost laughed out loud when he saw the small pile of nuts and dried berries neatly hidden in the hollow bottom of his bowl. _Seems the lass has a rebellious streak_. Nori snatched the small portion up quickly and shoved it into his mouth, Kirvi following his example, giving her a minute bow and a wink.

She grinned then, and Nori felt another shiver going through his body at the mischievous glitter in those blue eyes and the crinkle in their corners.

After ‘breakfast’ they were taken to the surprisingly well fitted forge. Iffan, the large blonde brute with the golden earring as Nori learned when one of the others called out to him, ordered them to begin making swords. Feeling that outright giving in to their demands wouldn’t help with their disguise Nori argued. “I’ll not lift a finger for you bastards,” he groused, “Who do you think you are? Kidnapping honourable dwarves that have never done wrong in their lives.”

“Never done wrong in their lives my ass,” Iffan spat, “You’re trying to make a living selling our goods.”

_Our_ goods?

“We’re trying to make a living selling goods we’ve made ourselves as well as selling on goods that are valuable,” Nori said, cocking his head. “Valuable to the both of us it seems. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Everything wrong with that,” Iffan said and a scraggy looking older fellow at his side sneered in agreement, “We don’t need no second seller, not in the region, not anywhere. Period.”

Nori balled his fists in pretend outrage. “Our families will soon know we’re missing and come to look for us. And sooner or later our King will know that his kin goes missing in Bree. He’s the just sort, and you’ll be sorry for taking us against our will.”

The Men laughed roughly. “It’s no matter to us, little beard,” Iffan said, slapping his thighs in dark amusement, “We care not for your families, nor for that King of yours. We care for continuing our business. And our business don’t continue if we don’t have no production happening. And the production is what you’re here for. That’s all that matters to us. So, unless you want us to take your pride you better get going.”

Nori narrowed his eyes. “You know nothing of Dwarrow pride, twolegs,” he said with a sneer, because he was reckless and wanted to know how far he could go. Iffan was not in charge, Nori was sure of it, and he needed to know who was.

“Don’t I?” Iffan replied promptly, all smiles gone now. He stood tall. “Bring the Halfling!” he ordered, and Nori’s stomach dropped.

A moment later she was dragged across the courtyard by her braids by a smaller man with no hair and the worst quality breastplate Nori had ever set eyes upon. She had turned white as milk and her eyes were screwed shut in pain but she didn’t make a sound. The bald man that brought her, Nori named him Curly in his head, tossed her at Iffan’s feet. Nori helped her up and pushed her behind him before he even realized he was doing it.

The ruffians roared with cruel amusement.

“So predictable,” Iffan spat once he calmed down. He pointed at Ruby. “Tell them, Halfling, tell them what will happen if they’re sassy.”

Nori could feel her tremble behind him. “They’ll have me shave your hair and your beards,” she whispered.

“Aye, we will,” Iffan said with a mean grin, “And what will we do if they don’t work the way we tell them to?”

“You will beat me,” the lass said, her voice tiny, and Nori conceited defeat.

“Aye,” Iffan said again, his eyes hard, “That we will. Tell them, Halfling, how long it took you to walk again after the last beard thought he could be clever.”

“Almost two weeks,” Ruby said tonelessly.

“And in that time there was shitty food, no washing got done and the garden turned into a mess,” Curly added in a lisp, “Tanner said next time we might just pull all your teeth instead of beating you to the pulp. At least you can still work then.” They laughed again, slapping their knees as if it had been the best joke.

Nori ground his teeth and bowed his head. _Predictable indeed_. Females were so rare amongst their kind that any dwarf with a shred of honour would go out of his way to keep one save, regardless of race. It was as deeply ingrained in them as feeling the stone under their feet in their bones. “Tanner will be back in four days,” Iffan said, looking at him knowingly. “You better make sure we have something to show him when he returns.”

_Three days,_ Nori thought as he watched them drag Ruby back to the main building. _We have three days to get out of here._

*

She came to the forge at midday, bringing them food. A thin stew and fresh water. She pointedly rolled her eyes at her apron as she put the tray down carefully and Nori relieved her from two warm bread rolls with quick fingers. “You shouldn’t be doing that, lassie,” he mumbled as he bent his head over his bowl, “You’ll be sorry for it if they find out.”

“I’ll be sorry for it whatever happens in this place,” she muttered and poured the water from the pitcher in two cups, arranging two napkins next to them.

Nori watched, her fussing and the pursed lips on her concentrated face giving him another punch in the gut. While the unexplained familiarity of it had him shiver, he also couldn’t hold back a smile. even though the ‘napkins’ were really faded and patched up rags, repurposed from old clothing most likely. “There is no race with finer table manners than Hobbits,” he said amused, catching her eye.

She blushed a little but caught herself and frowned. “You’d be the first dwarf that finds himself here to know anything about Hobbits.”

“Maybe,” he agreed easily, “But I know that it must be hard to live on three meals a day instead of seven.” He took a spoon full of stew. “I can do without elevensees and without afternoon tea, but I confess I am a little preferential about second breakfast. Scones and clotted cream or a little ham omelet make for a fine meal. Fribaldo Hay in Hobbiton has the finest eggs I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

Her eyes went round as saucers. _Mahal, no matter what she has lived through, she is young._

“You ... you’ve been to Hobbiton?”

“Aye, cozy place. All rolling hills and lush meadows,” he said with a slight smile, moving his spoon in a vague motion, “Even a dwarf with our kind’s love for rock and stone has to admit that it is beautiful.”

She nodded absentmindedly, eyes darting over her shoulders cautiously. _Hearing of a dwarf’s love for rock and stone sure doesn’t seem to surprise her. Seems to know a fair bit about Khazad,_ Nori thought. _Wonder how she learned it._ “I like best sitting on the bench outside Bag End smoking a nice pipe of Longbottom leaf, provided by my good friend Bilbo, while the smell of a roast in the oven wafts through the open kitchen windows.”

Her smile turned a little wistful.

“Have you been to the Shire, Ruby?” Nori asked boldly.

She licked her lips and looked at her boots - Nori recognized the tactic to delay her answer. “I’ve been to Tuckborough once,” she said cautiously and winced a little at the end, realizing she had given away more than she meant to.

_Once. Meaning_ _you’ve not lived there_. “Ah,” Nori smiled widely, “The Great Smials are a rather magnificent sight, I admit. But I still like Master Baggins’ home better.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Baggins?” she whispered; recognition clear in her eyes.

Nori nodded slowly. “Yes. Bilbo Baggins, who lives in Bag End in Hobbiton. The Bagginses are a very proper Hobbit family. But I do like the Tooks better. Then again, Bilbo is half a Took.” He looked at her carefully now. _No, she does not know Bilbo, but she does know the name Baggins._

“Who ... who are his parents?” she could barely ask the question.

“Bilbo is the son of Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took.”

Ruby’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull then, and she dragged in a long breath. _Now we’re getting somewhere._

“Now, I’m not sure if you’re familiar with family trees in the Shire, lassie, but they put many a Khazad history book to shame,” Nori made himself say with a small chuckle, carefully keeping an eye on his surroundings, and on her. Kirvi ate noisily, pretending to focus on his stew, but Nori knew he paid close attention to their conversation. “Bungo was the first of five, but Belladonna was one of-“

“Twelve,” the lass said immediately and looked him straight in the eye.

“Aye, she’s the daughter of Adamanta Chubb and-“

“... the Old Took,” she finished the sentence.

“And her siblings are Isengrin, Hildigard, Isumbras-”

“... Hildigrim, Isembold, Hildifons, Isembard, Hildibrand, Belladonna, Berylla, Donnarmira, Mirabella and Isengar,” the lass listed them in a whisper, blue eyes wide in her pale face.

_By old Durin’s grey beard!_ “Yes,” Nori reached out to take her cold hand in his. “Belladonna was closest to her older brother Hildibrand and of course to Berylla, but that’s to be expected, since they were ...”

“Twins,” she breathed, squeezing his fingers.

“Halfling!”

She dropped his hand as if she’d burned herself and whirled around, rushing off.

Nori continued eating, chewing the few flimsy pieces of meat slowly, thinking of the briefest expression of grief that had flitted across her face, just before a spasm of guilt. It came and went so quickly that Nori would have missed it had he not been watching her so intently.

“So,” Kirvi mumbled beside him, scooping out the last bits from his bowl, “Our lassie here is somehow related to our Royal Consort?”

Nori took a deep breath, finding he was not surprised that the smith had made the connection. “So it would seem.”

“But it still doesn’t explain how she ended up here, of all places.”

“No,” Nori mumbled, “it does not.” _But I’ll be damned if I won’t find out._

“Sure made things a wee bit more complicated, now,” Kirvi muttered under his breath as he put his empty bowl down, wiped his beard and turned towards the fire, ready to work.

_Aye, that it has._ Nori finished his stew in silence, mulling over all he knew about Hobbits and the particularly adventurous Tooks in general, about Belladonna and her twin Berylla in particular, and how Belladonna’s marriage to the proper Bungo Baggins had ended the sisters’ adventuring days.

They worked hard in the forge for the rest of the day. A few of the ruffians came over sporadically to check on them, watching them work for a while.

_Idiots, the lot of them_ , Nori thought as he dipped a bent piece of metal that was meant to be a sword into the quench bucket next to the anvil. _Any dwarfling could see that I have no real skill in this._

After dinner and another night in their hole under the trap door they got their thin porridge for breakfast, but the deep spoon already sitting in the bowl was dipped into thick berry jam as extra treat. Nori winked at Ruby in thanks.

He worried when she was ushered along with them to the forge straight after they had finished eating, with little subtlety at that, Iffan’s grip unrelenting.

“You forge,” Iffan told them with a sneer, holding the lass by her arm harshly that Nori knew it would leave a bruise. “And get everything ready, and our Halfling here will come to you for a bit in the afternoon to assist you.” The brute yanked on her arm for emphasis and she squeezed her eyes shut and her lips together.

No more was said and Nori had to wait for lunch to find out how a Hobbit could possibly assist a dwarf with forgework. She stood with her hands joined below her waist like a penitent child while they ate.

“What are you going to help us with, lass?”

She seemed nervous when she dried her hands on her apron and her shoulders were up. Tugging at a chain around her neck Nori hadn’t even realized before as it was hidden under her red kerchief and in her clothes she pulled it out and held it in her cupped hands before her, for them to look at. She held it gently, reverently, her small fingers stroking the item hanging on the end of the chain almost lovingly. But her eyes were on the both of them, guarded and cautious, and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

Kirvi drew in a sharp breath. It was a stamp made of iron, as long and as thick as a Dwarrow’s finger.

A maker’s mark. Nori didn’t have to exam it any closer to know what it was.

_Thráin’s_ maker’s mark.

“How do you have this, lass?” Nori asked very seriously, holding her eyes.

“I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re thinking,” she replied defensively, brows furrowed angrily and with a tilt of her chin that told him she had been accused of that before.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not what I’m thinking. But these things are incredibly special for our kind and not something to be meddled with. There are serious punishments for handling another master’s mark. So tell me, lassie, how it is that you have a thing like that chained around your neck?”

She shook her head and clamped her lips together. Reaching out quickly and grasping her hand before she could put the stamp away again he tried once more, making sure to keep his voice calm and sincere. “Lass, tell me. I can tell you know it is a serious matter and I can tell it means the world to you. But why do you have it? And why do you let them use it in such a way?”

Her eyes filled with tears. But then she shook her head again and snarled at him, her expression frustrated and angry and _afraid_ while she yanked at the chain around her neck, too tight to take it off. “You think I have a choice?” And she ripped her hands away, shoving the chain and the stamp back under her shirt, stomping off.

“Khakhf.” Kirvi said out loud what Nori thought because this just got a whole lot more complicated.

Not only were they dealing with a not-quite-Hobbit with blue eyes and raven hair, wearing boots that was somehow related to the Royal Consort, but also a lost King that was alive fifty years ago and his maker’s mark was not only used by scumbags to make illegal gain but was also chained around the neck of said not-quite-Hobbit, who appeared far too young to be ten years out of her Tweens. Throw in an adventurous Took aunt of Bilbo’s that went to live away from the Shire decades ago - it was surely no coincidence. All this was too much of an odd mix to be having an easy solution, and to solve it - somehow - was Nori’s job. Not to mention the added pressure of keeping her, Kirvi and himself alive and hopefully running free very soon.

_Fuck indeed._ Nori regretted deeply that, while thoroughly looking into every Hobbit in Hobbiton and even remotely related to Bilbo, he had neglected finding out more about Berylla’s whereabouts.

_Stupid_ , he scolded himself, in a foul mood all of a sudden.

Kirvi worked hard to finish the work of two and Nori did his best to help him as he could, keeping the fire going and bringing water, but also focused on getting the smith to forge him some nice little throwing blades and stars, basic things and not pretty, but easy to stash on his body and hiding them around the forge. The ruffians hadn’t searched them again, foolishly so, considering they worked with metal and had the skill to arm themselves.

_The fact that they’re feeling so secure will be their downfall._

When the ruffians brought Ruby back in the afternoon they also brought an empty chest with them. The lass stood with her head bowed, avoiding their eyes, while Iffan made a show of pointing out the chest.

“The Halfling will stamp the goods and give them a final look over. If she says it’s good enough to be sold it goes in the chest. If the chest is not filling up at a rate we like, or if she lies about the quality,@ he gave Ruby a glare, “there will be consequences. Tell them, Halfling, what are those consequences?”

“I g-get to spend a night in the d-dog kennels,” she stammered, looking terrified and her shoulders hunched.

Iffan chuckled darkly and Curly with his shitty breastplate nearly wheezed with laughter. Nori promised himself he’d let that one die slowly. “Aye, and how you loved that last time,” the blonde crooned, grabbing her chin roughly in his hand, nearly lifting her off her feet as he hauled her up close to his face. She whimpered then and that told Nori that no matter how brave she had been with everything else, the dogs were a truly sore spot.

He didn’t blame her. They were massive beasts, nearly double her size, all sharp teeth and feral growls.

Once Iffan and his cronies had waltzed off again Kirvi motioned for Ruby to inspect the couple of short swords he had managed to forge up to now. She lifted them and held them with surprisingly experienced hands, running her fingers over the hilt and along the top edge of the blade, her eyes slightly vacant. Nori watched her closely. _No Hobbit would know what to do._ Even Bilbo, who was a very educated, intelligent Hobbit, would not know what to do. He didn’t _feel_ the metal. The lass did. As only one with Khazad blood could. _Makansul_. Ruby had it. Nori shared a quick look with Kirvi, who had picked up on it as well.

_There is no doubt_.

Nori sighed, playing a hand. “Lass, we are not here to stay for long. I mean to take you with us when we go. But I’d wish you’d tell me how you come by that maker’s mark.”

She nearly dropped the sword she was inspecting, in shock. “You cannot leave!” she whispered urgently, eyes darting around in panic, “They will catch you and bring you back. They always, always do.” She stepped closer, reaching for his hand. “Please, please don’t try to leave. It’s been less than half a year since they killed Urso.” Tears shot into her eyes and she looked horrified at the memory.

Nori shook his head. “It’s no good, lass,” he said slowly, entwining her fingers with his while Kirvi made a show of moving this tools around and firing up the flame in the hearth. “I cannot forge. Those idiots might not be able to tell but that Tanner fellow will, once he’s back. I’m guessing he’s the boss, and that means he’s a great deal smarter than the fuckers that are here at the moment. Am I right?” Nori put a finger under her chin and lifted her face up gently to look him in the eyes, wide with fear. “We came here on a ruse, trying to find out where the items with that maker’s mark come from. We know it now. We’ll get out of here and report back to our King and he’ll send soldiers to deal with Tanner and his lot. They are done, finished, dogs and all. Nobody will be locked away in this place ever again, nobody will be killed or beaten or thrown in with the dogs.”

Her bottom lip began to tremble and she swallowed audibly.

“I’ll not leave you behind, lassie, no matter what, I promise,” he said urgently, turning them around so it looked like she was moving about with work, “But I wish you would trust me just a little.“

“Are you working over there?” a harsh voice shouted and one of the men made his way over. Nori immediately let go of her hand and bend to get the bucket. “Just needin’ more water,” he drawled and marched off to the well.

When he came back Kirvi had the swords heating and Ruby pulled the chain with Thráin’s maker’s mark from her clothes. Nori now could see that the chain was a crude and tight thing, made of iron, and years of chaffing the skin around her neck had left permanent welds. She held it out to the smith without lifting her gaze. Kirvi took it, but because the chain was barely an arm long the lass had to lean very close and the smith had to put his arm around her waist and up under her bosom to be able to hold the stamp in one hand and place it on the heated metal of the sword and tap it with the hammer in his other hand.

“Tell me how you got it, Ruby,” Nori whispered.

She held his eyes while Kirvi worked, but she didn’t respond. There was a glimmer of hope sparking in her blue eyes, contrasted by a firm set of her chin. Stubborn and determined.

_So fucking familiar._

By the time they had finished off the swords, quenching them and giving them a rubdown, and placed them in the chest it was nearly time to clean up.

“You should begin with a few hatchets tomorrow,” Ruby said quietly to Kirvi and pushed some well-made ash handles across the bench before she darted off.

She didn’t look at Nori.

“She’s been here ten years,” Kirvi soothed when Nori cursed under this breath, “We don’t even know how many dwarves have been working in this forge during that time. We don’t know how they’ve treated her and how they all ... moved on. Give her a bit. It would have to be a shock to think she could suddenly get away from here. Which reminds me to ask the obvious: how are you planning on getting away?”

“I’ve got an idea or two,” Nori muttered, “But I’ll need her to help.”

“Well, let’s see if she’s coming around till dinner,” Kirvi said with a hopeful ring in his tone. A hope Nori couldn’t quite share.

*

“Lass?” he asked her again in a mumble when she served them a small plate with a bake of the ends of fat sausages, potatoes and vegetable peels with her head bowed and her shoulders drooped.

But she didn’t look at him and she didn’t say a word.

*

Nori didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning and mulling over plans and ideas of how to get away. It would all be easy enough if not for the damned dogs and for Ruby. He had enough poison in the secret compartment in his boots to get rid of the dogs. But it somehow had to get into their food. That left dealing with the ruffians. It looked like there were about fifteen in the compound, lingering about. Some were near the stables, taking care of the horses, some were always coming and going; Nori was guessing them to be a patrol of sorts or bringing supplies. He was also guessing that when that Tanner returned he would return with more Men, as bosses didn’t usually travel without a guard of sorts. Which meant more ruffians and likely the top notch amongst those bastards because the boss wouldn’t bother with the dumbest ones now would he? No, to fight their way through once Tanner was back was out of the question.

And Ruby.

If what he suspected was true she was the only thing that mattered in this mess, really. If he was wrong - well, he was not the kind of dwarf that would leave a lassie behind in a place like this, regardless. But she needed to trust him. Asking her hadn’t done much good. And Nori would bet his ass that she had a stubborn streak to rival Ori’s when it came to eating green food, so ordering her or even threatening her wouldn’t do much good either, she’d just clamp up more.

Which is why he changed his approach at breakfast.

“Behind that barrel there is a good hollow spot for a small person to hide, should the time come,” he mumbled casually as he blew carefully on his watery but hot tea, looking directly at her and then meaningfully at the barrel that stood in the same spot as the one she hoisted around on the first evening. “And it would be good to know when the dogs eat and how many are there so the poison can be dosed appropriately.” Nori took a sip, keeping his tone one of forgone conclusion. “You should also prepare a small bag of rations if you can. There might not be enough time to forage.”

Her eyes were wide and she stood frozen for a moment, but then she wordlessly turned her back and went outside to work in the small garden behind the main building.

When she brought them lunch her face looked pinched and her hands were shaking.

“Lassie,” Nori said softly and deliberately placed his fingers over hers as she handed him his bowl.

Suddenly she blubbered with tears, but quickly swallowed them down and darted off again.

Nori sighed.

“The lass has been all alone for a long time,” Kirvi muttered as they settled down to eat their ration of gruel, face thoughtful and full of compassion. “No care and no tenderness. And I’d wager them smiths that were here before didn’t treat her too kindly, because of the maker’s mark, and because they might not have known a thing about Hobbits. Mind, ten years ago few of us knew anything about Hobbits. She’s missed all the development since then, probably doesn’t even know Bilbo Baggins is our Royal Consort. Likely felt like the odd one out all her life. Is no wonder she’s not handling it too well that there’s suddenly a bit of hope.”

“I know,” Nori grunted, “But we don’t have the time to be sappy.”

They finished their sparse meal in silence.

“Almost wish the Royal Consort was here,” the smith mused when they went back to work, “The lass might understand that we’re allies, but she’d trust family more.”

Nori’s hand stilled where he was sharpening one of the swords the smith had finished the day before. Then he chuckled under his breath. “Kirvi, you are a genius,” he said, flashing the smith a grin.

“I am?” Kirvi asked incredulously, looking doubtful and pleased at the same time, pausing briefly from hammering away on a piece of glowing metal. “Be sure to tell my Zunshel,” he said eventually, sheepishly, “She always complains I’m too thick sculled.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I've added another child to the many of the Old Took. Such an adventurous family ;)
> 
> khakhf – excrement = shit = swearword  
> makansul – that was is sensed = thing sense  
> zunshel – bird of all birds = girlfriend


	6. The Story of Luda and Lothin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby is a romantic at heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get to know Ruby :)

(Ruby)

Ruby looked at the potato, shaped like a funny face, two eyes looking at her. She made a grimace and battered her eyelashes at it in pretend flirting. “You have caught my eye,” she heard herself saying in a sweet voice, just like Luda did to Lothin in the story, “Will you be mine?”

Of all the Khazad stories Ruby had come to know, this one had always been her favourite. Lothin, the warrior son of a mighty Dwarrow lord, who found himself having the strangest affinity for – of all things - soft fabrics, was to marry his second cousin at his centenary birthday. While he was a dutiful son and an excellent fighter, his love of silks and brocade brought him much scorn. However, his Adad, the Lord, was understanding, recognizing his son’s strange affinity as his One’s pull, and gave him ten years leave to go into the world and search for her. If by the end of those ten years he had not found her he was to return home, in time for his centenary birthday, and accept the arranged marriage, for the goodness of the domain and the continuation of his line. Lothin travelled far and wide, searching high and low for his One, seeking out dams in all the corners of Arda in the hopes that any would recognize him as hers and claim him as husband. The ten years seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and having been unsuccessful Lothin made his way home, defeated and weighed down by his failing. Only to walk into the marketplace of his home and setting eyes on Luda, daughter of a tailor and herself a Master of the craft. Being inexplicably enthralled by the clang of weapons and the metal scent of an armoury, Luda had forgone the wandering life on a trade caravan with the constraints of a warrior domain. Sensing her One’s lingering presence in the very place, Luda patiently waited, trusting in her fate and in Mahal’s direction to guide her into the path of her One. As soon as their eyes met Lothin’s she felt like the whole world faded away, leaving only the two of them, and without any comprehension her steps were guided to the dwarf, who seemed to her the most handsome she’d ever laid eyes on. She threw her arms around him and spoke, not knowing his name or heritance, ‘Master Dwarf, you have caught my eye. Will you be mine?’, thus uttering the very words that would go down in Khazad history as the famous conclusion of one of the most romantic love stories of all.

Ruby sighed. It was one of her all-time favourites, and her Adad had told it to her so wonderfully, his deep voice rolling smoothly over the harsh sounds of Khuzdul that it ever gave her goosebumps.

Even though he seemed to have very conflicting opinions about Khazad Ones he never refused her when she begged him to read to her. Although he never really explained to Ruby why he felt at odds with it she could guess: he had had a wife, before he met her Mama, but the dam had died. That wife had not been her Adad’s One and from his reaction when Ruby begged him to tell her more stories of Ones she was certain he never experienced the pull that was always described. On the contrary, he always emphasized that most dwarves were never found by their One, and therefore had no choice but to be without for all their lives, in many instances making them no less happy. But he did agree that it ever was the dam that chose her husband, and any dwarf lucky enough to be chosen by one would accept, lest he’d dishonour himself and his whole house. He said that with a smile in Mama’s direction, and she tended to grin and hug him fiercely. Her parents had a wonderful bond, they were happy together, even if Ruby knew that they were not each other’s One. But her Mama had chosen him, and that counted for almost the same, didn’t it?

As for herself, Ruby had never allowed herself to believe Mahal would have destined a One for her, only part-Dwarrow as she was. A True One was already the stuff of wishful thinking, but a Blessed One was so far beyond the possibilities, it wasn’t even funny. She had never asked her Adad whether he thought it could be her fate to meet someone whom she could declare her husband. A dwarf, obviously, because only one of the Khazad would understand the implication of refusing her offer. But would the thought of dishonour outweigh the thought of joining with a half-dam? Ruby hadn’t exactly met a full mountain of dwarves, so it was a bit difficult to judge how she would be received, but she had met enough to know that it would be a challenge. And Hobbits? Well, the Hobbits she and Mama had had somewhat regular contact with were certainly more open to the quirks of other races than the ones in the Shire, but even they always treated her Mama with a cautious regard, and it was impossible to miss their restraint politeness. No, none of them would ever be interested in a half-Hobbit, she knew. Nor any of the few travelling Hobbits that visited from the Shire; Brandybucks and Tooks, the lot of them. They tended to take one look at her booted feet, at the fact that she was half a head taller than them, and stronger, and that was that.

It couldn’t be helped; she was what she was. Yet, a part of Ruby stubbornly held on to hope. Because wasn’t hat the morale of the story of Luda and Lothin? That one had to trust fate, trust the plans of Mahal and be ready in case paths crossed with a One. Even if one was only part-Dwarrow.

But holding on to a slither of hope was one thing, Ruby knew she’d forever have trouble being patient about trusting in her fate like Luda had. Because when one was lonely and had little hope, patience was not the greatest virtue, she knew that well.

Alright, patience was not her greatest virtue, period, even long before she was lonely and had little hope.

She sighed and continued peeling the potatoes. Dreams were no use in this place, yet ever since she was dragged into Tanner’s compound dreams were all she had. In the beginning, she had given in to desperation, had cried and begged, to no avail. Eventually she stopped crying and begging and began to work, fearing she’d lose her mind if she let herself fall deeper into despair. And since then she had worked from sunrise until late at night to keep Tanner and his thugs happy. She hated them with a passion, but she feared them, too. She knew only too well that she physically was no match for them and that she was completely at their mercy. Work, at least, kept her from despair, and made her tired enough to find some rest in her sleep.

Because if she wasn’t tired enough to sleep all she did was lie awake, staring at the beams of the ceiling in her little sleeping nook in the kitchen, on her cot that was too small to stretch out. That’s when the ache in her heart would be the worst, the agonizing loneliness burning in her throat and threatening to flood her senses with despair. Her life now was one of isolation and nothing but a hollow agony. And loss. Loss of her home, loss of her family, of love, of someone who cared about her. And loss of simple things like having a conversation, of being able to read a book, to sleep in, to do nothing. It was nearly an impossible task to swallow the pain down, past a burning throat and push the memories away, deep into the dark space designated for memories that made her _feel_. The kind that would see her crumble were she to revel in them. The kind that lead to nothing but deep darkness.

She continued peeling the potatoes destined to roast in a pan with carrots and parsnips to accompany the roast chicken she had planned for dinner.

The ping of a hammer on metal sounded in through the open window, distracting her. It came from the forge. The forge where Nori and Kirvi were working. Nori, who was Skârbs if the Men were asking. Nori, who had told her to hide when he set up his plans to escape from the compound.

Ruby frowned at the barrel Nori had pointed out to her in the morning. Hesitating for a moment she quickly checked her surroundings before putting down her peeler and moving to pull the barrel out from under the kitchen bench where it was situated and looked in the space behind it. There was indeed enough room for a small person to hide and she should be able to pull the barrel in front of her easily enough.

Standing, she put a cold hand on her forehead. _What am I thinking? I cannot seriously be considering running away? It’s madness. I don’t want to die_. She thought of her mother. ‘ _We all have to die someday, blossom’._

_‘You gave your word,’_ a second voice added with a sneer _._

No, no, Ruby would not think about that.

Not now.

Focusing on the food again she stuffed the chickens with old bread and herbs and placed them in the roast pans. Once the vegetables were cut and the chickens in the oven, she peeled the two hardboiled eggs, hiding them in her apron pocket and went back to the forge.

While Kirvi lay out the two hatchet blades he had begun forging during the morning she put the eggs on the work bench without a word when she was sure none of the Men were looking.

“Thank you, lassie,” Kirvi mumbled and shoved one into his mouth swiftly as he leaned down to lift one of the cooled hatchet blades and handed it to her. She ran her fingers carefully over the curved, as yet unsharpened blade and the slightly bearded bottom edge. It was good work. She knew smiths tended to use their own special mixture of alloys to carbonize iron, with Khazad using their superior knowledge and understanding of stone and metal to add what the various types of iron ore were lacking, hence constantly changing and adjusting their alloy mixtures. While all Khazad had the ingrained skill to read iron ore, the knowledge of how to produce steel of the highest quality from whatever type of iron ore was before them separated the beginners from the master smiths. Kirvi was a master smith, as his beads declared. His work was solid and Ruby was pleased to note he had utilized some of the copper available in the forge and had adapted his alloy mixture. 

Very different to Narg’s work. Narg had been the first smith Ruby met in Tanner’s compound. His skills weren’t adequate, his steel waxy, but he was a good dwarf and Ruby had tried to hide his mistakes. It had worked fine for a while, but one day Tanner had decided to pick one of Narg’s swords to practice with and it bent at the first clash. Narg’s screams still rung in her ears today. Not only that: Tanner had made her watch, and the sight of Narg’s torment was now a firm part of her nightmares.

Meric had been next. A grim dwarf that held no love for Men and even less for a stupid Sharbrugu. He accused her of stealing the maker’s mark and spoke not one word to her in the nearly three years he was at the compound. One day he was gone. At that stage the smiths still slept in a locked cell in the storeroom and the dogs were locked in their kennels overnight. That changed after Meric was gone. For a while she had hope Meric would bring help to free her, but it died just as her squash harvest in a very early autumn frost.

Tarmon was next, a young dwarf. He didn’t have his mastery yet but Ruby had never bothered explaining to the Men what the beads meant, to them a dwarf was a dwarf and a smith was a smith. They didn’t realize how much she truly knew about Khazad culture and she had no intention of having them ever find out about it. Her own beads were buried under the blackberry bush in her mother’s garden, save one, but that one was well hidden in her hair and she made sure to always keep it woven into the thick braids that framed her face.

Tarmon was kind and he worked hard to fulfil the Men’s requirements to keep her - and himself - safe. He was devastated when they deemed the chest not filled enough at the end of one week almost two years into his ‘residency’ and he had to watch on as they locked her into a small cage and shoved it into the kennels with the snarling, horrid beasts who hadn’t been fed for two days to make them especially vicious. She had been stiff with fear, certain she would not survive the night, that the dogs would manage to break the cage and eat he alive. Together they cried tears of anguish and relief when she was released in the morning, to the Men’s great cajoling and cruel laughter. But Tarmon’s kindness was his downfall because when he stepped between Tanner and her as the man handled her roughly one day they cut him down without mercy right where he stood. Ruby was left to wash the blood from the forge the following day, another vivid image to add to her nightmares.

Urso was next. He refused to work. They tied him down and had her shave him. Urso was livid in his fury at the insult as she tried not to cut him while he raged and her hands shook. He still refused to work and that’s when she got her first thorough beating. There hadn’t been an inch of skin on her body that wasn’t black and blue, but Tanner had ordered not to break any bones. Yet her arm was broken, and her jaw - resulting in her not able to work as it was expected of her and her having to live on liquid food for weeks. She never again saw the two that misjudged their strength so badly and when she hobbled to the forge to bring Urso food several days after the incident he worked silently, his hairless head and face gleaming with sweat and the bruises on his face a stark contrast on his pale face. He lasted over two years before the urge to see his wife and daughter again became too much. She didn’t know how he managed to get out from under the trap door where he slept but one night she was woken by the dog’s ferocious barking and by Tanner yelling orders. And come morning the sight of Urso being thrown into the dog kennel was being burned deep into her soul.

There had been no smith at the compound all winter, and Tanner had not been happy about it, putting a lot of pressure on Iffan to find someone suitable. Ruby knew that part of the income from the weapons was used to pay for the upkeep of the Men and the compound, and with no items to sell, no money was coming in. She was not surprised that Iffan went out in search for a new smith as soon as the snows melted, looking to snatch another travelling Dwarrow Master from the roads. She was surprised, however, when Iffan did not bring only one dwarf, but two.

New dwarves always were left tied up and gagged for a couple of days, to ‘mellow’ them as Tanner called it. When Ruby finally managed to bring Kirvi water - even though she knew it would spell nothing but trouble if she was caught - he grinned at her from under his blindfold, despite the obvious pain he was in. She had him drink slowly and made him chew some herbs for the pain. He had called her _bahith_ , the first time in a long time anyone had called her by a Khuzdul endearment, and it nearly made her cry.

Skârbs - Nori - had been of sharp mind and wide awake, with him asking questions right away. But he, too, had been friendly. She did her best to feed them extra treats, like she always did for the dwarves that shared her peril in the compound.

Ruby had seen on the first morning that Nori was only dithering around in the forge, that Kirvi did the brunt of the work even though Nori made quite an effort to keep up appearance.

It worried her.

When Iffan explained to him and Kirvi what punishments would await them should they not work as required Nori balled his fists and bowed his head. It looked like angry submission, but Ruby had caught a glimpse of his eyes. There was a dangerous glimmer in Nori’s eyes at that moment, and she realized then that Nori was a very _dangerous_ dwarf, far more dangerous than any other she had ever known.

But then he was so friendly when he complimented her, it was hard to reconcile that friendly Nori with the one who had dangerous eyes. That he would know about Hobbits, and in such detail, was a shock. In her experience, Hobbits were a largely overlooked and forgotten race. How Nori could be _friends_ with a Hobbit, a Baggins at that, was beyond her comprehension. She wished she could ask him. It had been so good to hear him speak about things she missed. Second breakfast. And elevensies. And the Shire. Suddenly she longed to have her life back. _A_ life, _any_ life, that was her own. Where she could just sit at a table and have a nice, long conversation with someone over a cup of tea. All she had ever known in Tanner’s compound was work. There had been no garden when she had been dragged there, and in the first few months she was locked into the kitchen, where she slept, ate and worked. Then Tanner saw her handling supplies the Men brought from Yavanna knew where one day, sorting the good from the bad with expert hands. He asked if she knew how to grow food. She didn’t deny it. A month later she had a garden. A little later chickens, then a small shed. She never got anything for herself but when she asked Tanner for sturdy branches and strong twine to build a trellis for the cucumbers, and sieve cloth to help with her cooking, she received both without delay.

They had an odd relationship; she was well aware. Tanner was not the strongest man in the compound, but he was by far the sharpest. And he knew how to _read_ people and exploit them in a cunning, cruel way. It had taken him all about two blinks of an eye to figure her out and play on her emotions and he knew she would do almost anything to keep the maker’s mark - it would be so easy to snap the chain he himself had fastened tight around her neck after all, get rid of her and use the maker’s mark just the same. But Tanner wasn’t stupid. He knew he was well off having her slaving away for him. Her food was good - she was a Hobbit after all - and the Men lacked nothing. Tanner knew it was her who kept the smiths in check, knew Dwarrow would give him nothing but trouble with their stubbornness if she weren’t around to keep them submissive. Predictable indeed.

And she had given him her word. A moment of desperation, a bargain struck. Bound by it, still now, ten years later.

It didn’t matter that she was numb inside and unhappy.

So here they were. A decade into her captivity.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she had always hoped help would come. Hoped for it and dreaded it at the same time. That someone would come and ask questions about all those weapons that sold well over their market value, just because of the maker’s mark, even though she truly didn’t understand why that was the case. Her Adad had been a good smith, but she doubted he was exceptional.

And no rescue ever came.

Only now it seemed both her hopes and her fears had become a reality.

Because Nori and Kirvi had come to investigate. And therein lay the catch. Because they didn’t _care_ about her, why would they? Whatever plans they had made, she didn’t exist in any of their planning. _That’s because they didn’t know about you,_ the logic voice in her head said.

_Maybe, but it doesn’t mean they will include me in their plans now that they do,_ her stubborn self bit back.

Ruby rubbed her forehead. It was all too worrisome. Tanner would be back the day after tomorrow and Nori was right that if they were going to escape they should do so well before he was returning. Tanner would pick up on Nori not knowing how to forge really quickly, and did it really need two smiths anyway? And Ruby had seen the weapons the Men had brought back with Nori and Kirvi, allegedly bought up or even stolen through third persons and now just a means to make some extra coin by circulating them again. Ruby knew that honest dwarves would not sell on the work of other masters, and that master smiths, like Kirvi, had sworn an oath to keep an honest conduct in his trade. Ruby also knew that the items the Men had confiscated from Nori and Kirvi were not forged in Tanner’s compound by any of the dwarves she had known over the last ten years. She knew the moment she picked up one of those swords. The weapons were exquisite. Absolutely perfect. The original iron was one she was unfamiliar with, but she sensed a lot of red in it. The resulting steel was superb, the metal singing a song that was oddly familiar and yet strangely new. Ruby could sense the maker of those weapons, a majestic and strangely familiar presence. She knew his hair was long and dark, and that he worked in a well-equipped forged under stone. She also knew that the maker’s mark was different. Just a tiny swish on the top cirth rune for ‘i’, one she could sense more than actually see in the stamped seal in the steel, but it definitely was not the same as the one that hung around her neck.

Tanner wouldn’t be able to tell that the weapons were not forged in his compound. Or would he?

Would he ask her? And would she be able to lie?

Convincingly?

She knew the answer to that.

A ruse, Nori had called it. An elaborate one. She hadn’t asked him who was behind it all, but he had mentioned their _King_. Ruby wasn’t sure what King that was. Both her parents had taught her the history of Middle Earth but always had focused more on the days of old than on the present.

‘ _Be brave, rugnagun’_ the voice of her Adad rung in her head, ‘ _Don’t turn your back on your fate.’_

What is my fate?

_Not to be stuck in the compound for the rest of my days, surely,_ the little voice whispered back.

But after what she had done ...

“Thank you, lassie,” Nori mumbled over his lunch. He chewed on his egg and winked at her. “You’re taking good care of us. More than you have to.” His sharp eyes held her gaze and they were serious, despite the cheeky wink, his voice sincere.

She felt a blush rise in her cheeks. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, embarrassed, “I would do more but Tobyas counts the supplies and double checks with what I’m cooking.”

Nori blinked, obviously not sure which one of the men Tobyas was but it didn’t really matter. “Even so,” he bowed his head a little, “Thank you.” The he grinned, his face lighting up with mischief. “I should be used to be fussed over.”

Ruby’s eyes darted to his braids. Marriage and a son.

Nori saw where her eyes went. “Ah,” he tugged the braid a little. “A ruse, remember.” _Of course_. He saw her face fall and continued quickly. “And yet not so far from the truth.”

Ruby quirked her eyebrows and fussed with some of the tools on the stand.

“I have no wife but I have an older brother, who is about as much of a mother hen as a wife likely would be,” his grin was rueful, “Dori took care of us, me and our younger brother. If you ask him he’ll likely tell you that I’m a lost cause. But Ori is a gem and a good dwarf, and if I had a son I’d be proud to have one who is like him.”

She contemplated his response quietly. He told her the truth, she could see it in his eyes. _Why_? Why did he trust her?

“You have siblings, lassie?” Kirvi asked quietly as he handed her another half-finished hatchet to give her something to pretend to be doing.

Ruby shook her head, running her hand over the notch of the ash handle.

“Will you help me, lass,” Nori asked quietly, “to get the three of us out of here?”

The three of us, he said. Ruby licked her lips and shuddered. ‘ _Be brave, dazbith_. _Don’t run from your fate as I have done.’_

“What would Dori do?” she asked hoarsely.

Nori’s look was both calculating and thoughtful. But he said without hesitation: “He’d smash the place to bits and get you home to your family.” He leaned in a little. “Then again, my Nadad is the strongest dwarf I know. I am not like him. I have other skills ...” and he quickly flashed a hidden knife, grinning when her eyes widened in surprise. Straightening up he continued. “But I am not Dori. I will need _your help_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lothin comes from Old Norse 'loðinn' and means hairy, shaggy, woolly  
> Luda: urban dictionary: a weird feeling, one that cannot be explained / a Russian baby name meaning Love of the People
> 
> Sharbrugu - Hobbit = rude term  
> bahith - friend that is young/new/fresh  
> rugnagun - tiny chin (pride)  
> dazbith - diamond that is young


	7. The Pointy End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of preparations and panic

(Ruby)

A curt nod was all the response she had given and yet she felt immediately as if she’d signed her own death warrant. The weight of the decision lay heavy in her stomach for the rest of the day, making her nauseous. As she went about her chores she could feel Nori’s appraising eyes on her every time she stepped outside the main building. Ruby tried her very best not to fidget unnecessarily. Not to dash about, not to rush her chores, not to give anything away. All while her insides were quaking with nerves and anxiety. She felt barely able to control herself, exhilarated and alarmed, nervous and petrified all at the same time.

When she brought the two dwarves their dinner she whispered. “How? How will we get away?”

“We will poison the dogs, create a diversion and run,” Nori muttered quietly as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “How many dogs are there?”

“Eight,” she whispered back, “They’re outside the compound overnight, only one bitch stays inside at the moment because she’s expecting a litter any day now. She’s kept separate from the others.”

“Who feeds them?”

“I prepare the food first thing in the morning, but one of the Men brings it to them,” she rushed, wiping the table where they sat. “It’s never a lot, they’re kept hungry.”

“Won’t matter,” Nori muttered in response, “Keep a knife on you if you can, and get those provisions ready. And at lunch I give you the poison. We leave the moment we have a fire going at the forge on the morrow. Once you get out you will run. You will not stop. You will not wait for us or for anything else. You will run until you get to Hobbiton.”

She wanted to ask him how to get to Hobbiton but Iffan barked her name and she hurried to get to him.

When Ruby crawled into her little cot that night she was exhausted. True, a decade of no reprieve from work and worry had settled into her bones with deep exhaustion; it was not a new feeling. But this night Ruby felt so worn and so frayed with nerves that she wanted nothing more than to collapse in a heap and cry her heart out.

Of course, that was not an option.

Not in this place.

Certainly not today, of all days.

Instead, she curled up on her cot, hugging her knees to her chest and breathing deeply into the coarse fabric of her tunic, which she never took off. Coarse, like the ugly set of dark brown patchwork pants she had sown herself from leftover pieces of clothing from the Men that was too good yet to be turned into rags. She _longed_ so much to have soft things in her life again. A soft shirt, a night gown even. Soft grass under her feet. A soft touch. A caress. Ruby squeezed her eyes shut. There was no softness in her life now. All she had was rough hardship, brutal wretchedness and numbing despair. And guilt. Guilt that never went away and kept stabbing at her guts with a thousand sharp knives.

“I’m sorry Mama,” she whispered into the dark room, like every night she had been here, in this place. The hardship, wretchedness and despair she would be able to leave behind when she fled Tanner’s compound, but the guilt, Ruby knew, would follow her wherever she would go.

Tanner.

Whose eyes were colder than brown eyes had any right to be, and his gaze was ever calculating.

Tanner would love to see her fail. But no, no she would not, _could not_ fail. In all the ten years this, now, was the only time there was a chance to get away, to be free. She had to trust in Nori and Kirvi and play her role in the plan, believing that they’d pull it off.

She balled her fists, a fire inside of her rearing its head. She’d be damned if she gave Tanner the satisfaction to see her _fail_. He’d mock her, would know exactly the right words to say to play on her guilt, would love to rub it in that she was nothing, that she _meant nothing_ to anyone, that no-one cared about her enough to set her free. She’d not allow for that to happen. She’d not let her feelings get the better of her. Ruthlessly she forced the swirling cesspit of emotions back down. Until there would be a time to reflect.

Later.

Some time.

Hopefully.

Until then she’ll continue to be strong. For her Mama. For her Adad.

*

Breakfast came and went as ever, the only difference was that she could tell Nori that three Men went hunting last night. Iffan wanted a feast when Tanner returned.

“Good news,” the dwarf replied calmly, “Three less to worry about.”

Iffan also wanted the compound spotless, but despite the extra work that kept her more than busy, by lunch Ruby’s stomach was in knots. Nori pushed a small leather pouch into her hand after she delivered the plates with their midday meal to the forge: some bread ends, pickled vegetables and a few slices of smoked meat. She was quick to shove it into her coat pocket. “It’s the poison. It needs to be ingested to work but still, make sure to not get it on your skin. It will take a couple of hours to work. So as soon as you’ve made the dogs’ food I want you to continue with your day as you always do, which means you make breakfast. But instead of going to tend your garden after that you will go straight behind that barrel and hide. Because round about that time the dogs will start getting spasms and the thugs likely will get antsy. Kirvi and I get the fire in the forge going and as soon as you hear a big bang you’ll grab your stuff and come running to us, hear me, lassie.”

Ruby nodded dumbly.

“Let’s shake on it,” he said and reached for her hand. 

Ruby felt all colour drain from her face at that sentence. _Shake on it_. She ripped her hand away before he could take it and stepped back, trembling violently all of a sudden. “I ... I can’t,” she whimpered, cold panic gripping her heart and pulling the ground away under her feet. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can, bahith,” Kirvi mumbled, reaching for her hand once more and squeezing it gently, before pushing the polished hatchet in her grip and enclosing her hand underneath, helping her make large swinging motions.

“No,” she felt her eyes filling with tears, “I can’t. I gave my _word_.”

Kirvi stilled behind her and she saw the two dwarves exchange glances.

“You gave your word not to run away? Did you make a bargain of sorts?” Nori asked and sighed when she nodded, nearly blind with tears. “Does it have an ill effect on someone else if you run away now?”

She stared at him.

He could still burn down the house. _It will not matter now._

Sniffing, she shook her head.

“There you go,” he said gently, “Sometimes a given word is just past its time.” The simplicity of that sentence shook her to the core and she stared at him, tears drying up in an instant at the shock. Nori put a hand on her shoulder. “You are a brave, strong, resilient lassie. You have been for a long time, to be able to survive here. Now you have us, and we will not let you down, I promise you-“

“Beards! It doesn’t look like you’re working,” Iffan snarled across the yard, coming closer. Nori dropped his hand and Ruby shook herself back to reality, turning to the man.

“They just clarified some things about the chest and the types of axes they were supposed to make,” she muttered, head hung submissively, “It has not kept me from my work.”

The brute glared at her and at the dwarves, but then he grinned cruelly. “Hope you reminded them of how pretty black and blue bruises look on your pale skin, Halfling.” He waved her along and she grabbed the tray and dashed back to the main building.

*

By dinner time Iffan had run Ruby and everyone else ragged with his foul mood and the extra orders he had barked out, as he was want to do when Tanner was about to return to the compound. She found her temper had moved from being frayed to one of biting annoyance, and she cheerfully pounded the cutlets destined for dinner with the meat mallet, pretending it was the blonde brute’s stupid face.

One more night and after that she would never, ever lift a finger for anyone other than those she chose to work for, she vowed to herself.

When Ruby served the two dwarves their bowl of bony stew, potato and carrot peels, Nori pushed a peace of leather towards her. “Look at it later, bahith,” he said, speaking fast and nodded appreciatively when she immediately stuffed it into her tunic pocket. “It’s a map. You go to the Shire, lassie, you hear me,” Nori implored, “Don’t speak to anyone. Let nobody stop you. Any village you see on your way you circle around it. Get to Hobbiton. Go to the smial on top of the hill, right underneath the oak tree. That smial has a green, round door. My friends will be there by now. You tell them everything that has happened to you. They will keep you safe. Here,” he surreptitiously took the hem of his tunic and felt for something. He seemed to have found it because his lean, strong fingers easily ripped a little hole and he freed a hidden bead - gold, she knew without looking - placing it into her hand, closing her fingers around it and holding her hand in his for a moment. “Put it inside your sock, between the big and second toe, to keep it secret. Give this to the tall dwarf with the long, black hair. He will know it’s from me. He will believe you then.” He squeezed her hand briefly before he let her go.

There wasn’t another chance to talk. Iffan was pacing a lot, restless, ordering the Men to wash themselves and putting on the clothes Ruby had cleaned during the day. She was left with a whole new load of dirty clothes and put some to soak overnight before finally retiring herself. It was odd to think that - if all went as planned - she would not be there to wash their clothes in the morning, nor ever again. She herself only had a quick wash - she’d never really dared to linger while not fully dressed - but she took her time to comb her hair and braid it neatly, her fingers shaking as she wove in the tiny bead once more. Nori’s bead was hidden between her toes, as he had told her to. She didn’t dare to look at it closely, in case Iffan or any other of the Men would barge into her small alcove tonight of all nights with one more chore or another, but the gold had made her fingers twitch and something inside her sing. _Uthrabzunshith_ , her Adad would have said and smiled. She left her socks on, too, and the boots ready right next to her bed.

There was no point even attempting to sleep; too many thoughts were swirling through Ruby’s head. Nori.

Tanner.

Escape.

The dogs.

Nori and Kirvi’s promise to not leave her behind.

The risk of a failed escape attempt. The _consequences_.

An odd mix of excitement and worry churned in her gut. She hadn’t been able to eat much for dinner and even the small cup of ale she had smuggled aside to drink just before bed had not helped to calm her nerves.

Had she set aside enough provisions to get her to Hobbiton? Would she be able to read Nori’s map? Or would she get lost in the wilds? Had he written it like Men did, with north at the top, or was it nudazhar, with east at the top. It would be no matter; her Adad had taught her to read both really well, almost obsessively so. Her sense of direction had always been good, and even now Ruby knew that she’d have to head west as soon as she left the compound. Adad had been endlessly amused and fascinated how she always knew where he had led her during their many adventures. He often would blindfold her and expect her to find their way back home. She always did. The stone under her feet telling her the way even through her boots, and the roots of the trees adding their additional information.

But would she have the strength to make it to Hobbiton? The wilds held many dangers, Ruby knew that well. And once she made it to Hobbiton, would she be able to find the dark-haired dwarf Nori had mentioned? And if so, would that dwarf truly help her? Would Nori and Kirvi manage to get away, too? Meet up with her and go to Hobbiton together? Or would the Men overwhelm them and then chase after her, catch her and drag her back? Could she run when she knew Nori and Kirvi didn’t get away?

Doubt, fear, skepticism and panic went round and round in circles. Ruby could hear the frantic beating of her own heart in the small corner that was hers and echo back from the whitewashed walls.

She had been sure that she wouldn’t fall asleep, but she surprised herself and dosed off for several hours with no dreams haunting her for once. Still, she woke much earlier than she needed to and watched the grey darkness of night fade slowly with the glow of the rising sun. It was almost a relief to be able to get up. She took her time to get dressed and packed a full waterskin, a hunk of cheese, several hard-boiled eggs, a few apples and dried sausages into her empty pillowcase. Tobyas would be too busy this morning to count stock and by the time he might remember she’d hopefully be long gone. Hesitating momentarily, she picked up one of the kitchen knives, rolled it tightly in one of the rags she used as tea towels and added it to the pile. She left the pillowcase on her bed, which she made neatly as every day and began her day by preparing the dogs’ food.

Ruby mixed the innards of yesterday’s chickens with old bread rind and some roughly mashed cooked vegetables in the two buckets she always used. Her hands shook as she added the poison Nori had given her. She took care not to get anything on her hands and even held her breath as she stirred it through the food most thoroughly. It wasn’t the dogs’ fault that they were vicious. It wasn’t their fault that they were used to kill. But she couldn’t forget their breath on her face and she couldn’t forget Urso’s screams. She barely looked up when one of the Men came to pick up the buckets, busying herself with preparing breakfast. Her movements were almost methodically, her hands knew what to do without her having to think about it. Water was boiled. Plates and mugs brought out. She cut plenty of ham and began frying it off with finely chopped leeks. Once the Men started trickling into the common room she added eggs and grated cheese to the pan.

Iffan brought Nori and Kirvi and roughly deposited them at their table.

Ruby began handing out breakfast.

Kirvi smiled at her encouragingly from under his eyebrows. Nori’s keen eyes searched her face and he seemed to like what he saw there because he nodded to himself before catching her eyes. “Brave lassie,” he mumbled, “Brave Ruby, mamahzannagûna. All will be well. Trust us. We’re in this together now. And we won’t let you down.” When they were done eating and Iffan bellowed at them to get a move on Nori held her gaze once more and mumbled. “Now you go to the kitchen and as soon as everyone is out of here you grab your stuff and hide behind the barrel, like I told you. And as soon as you hear the commotion you run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bahith - friend that is young/new/fresh  
> uthrabzunshith – (little thief bird) Magpie, because Ruby loves collecting shiny things  
> mamahzannagûna – she who continues to be brave  
> nudazhar – trad. Dwarfish map with East at the top of the map


	8. Everyone’s in a Mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why moods are annoying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little jump away from all the action in Tanner’s compound (insert evil laugh). High time to take a trip into the mind of our favourite dwarf.

(Dwalin)

Dwalin didn’t mind going to the Shire.

Food was great, ale even better, the place was relaxing, and no troubles could be expected for his King, other than indigestion from the sheer amount of food on offer. Dwalin always gained a few stone, enough to have his armour pinch a tad here and there, but after another week or two on the road and in Ered Luin it would melt off him just as swiftly, since he took over the guard training for the duration of their stay and liked to give the soldiers a chance to test their skills against him.

Meaning he got to trounce them good and proper, with the royal blessing, poor sods. Thorin did join in on occasion, to show his prowess maybe, to lose some weight possibly, although Dwalin hated when his King pitted himself against any other dwarf, even if it was in a friendly spar. Thorin called him overprotective and paranoid, and he was right perhaps, although Bilbo tended to side with Dwalin, equally unhappy seeing the King of Erebor facing blades, even if they were blunted.

No, Dwalin didn’t mind going to the Shire, on the contrary. Having lived outside stone for so many years before they reclaimed Erebor he had grown rather comfortable under open sky. And summers in the Shire were most pleasant. It was a privilege, of course, to be allowed to accompany his King and the Royal Consort to Bilbo’s home every other year, and thank Mahal Erebor was in safe hands with Dís and the boys. Fíli in particular grew into his role as Heir to the throne with alacrity.

Yes, for all those reasons Dwalin enjoyed being in the Shire.

What he did not enjoy was that there was nothing for him _to do_. Which meant that within a week or so he grew bored. They utilized the small forge in Hobbiton, fixing up ploughs and trowels, spades and garden sheers, but it certainly wasn’t work that could keep nearly two score dwarves occupied for long. They trained some of the bounders, some of the Brandybucks tended to visit, always keen on a little rough housing, but still …

This time, at least, Dwalin had some additional distraction in the forms of Dori and Gimli. Dori had insisted on coming with them because he could not be persuaded to stay behind since Nori had gone on that mission of his. While it was no challenge for Dwalin to spar with the guards that had accompanied them to work off some of the frustration, Dori at least provided some resistance. The prim dwarf was very strong indeed. What he was lacking in combat skill he easily made up for in strength. Dwalin was ever mighty impressed with Dori. Although, if he was offered some fruity tea one more time he’d lose his temper, he was sure.

And for Gimli it was his first trip to the Shire. Naturally, the young dwarf was excited, had been excited ever since he was told he could come and even more so from the moment they left Erebor. Excited to be out from under the watchful eyes of his parents, excited to be travelling across the Misty Mountains and catch a glimpse of the mountains of his forefathers, excited to be in the Shire. Even though the young dwarf’s excitement became a bit much at times it was refreshing to see what was familiar and long past mentioning or wondering over made young Gimli brim with curiosity and fascination.

And _excitement_ , let’s not forget excitement.

Even though Gimli was familiar with the stories told from the Shire by any of the other dwarves of the Company that had accompanied the King and his Consort over the years, and was familiar with the sight of Bilbo’s furry feet and pointy ears and curly hair he needed a week or so to get over seeing a multitude of furry feet and pointy ears and curly hair. Because, as expected, those things were certainly plentiful in the Shire.

“Amazing!” Gimli had breathed about a thousand times on the first day when faced with Hobbit masters and matrons, lads and lasses, tweens and teens and fauntlings. To keep the young dwarf from standing about with his mouth open Bilbo had put him to task right away and had employed him to air out Bag End, chop fire wood, carry food from the market - not that any of it needed doing, really, considering Hamfast did take really good care of Bag End in Bilbo’s absence.

Regardless, Bilbo always put everyone to good use, too familiar with Dwarrow and their need to keep busy. And even though the soldiers settled in the Green Dragon for the duration of their stay they all knew how to behave themselves and were glad to chip in whenever the Royal Consort used them for one chore or another, even if it had nothing to do with guarding and fighting for a change. Coming to the Shire with the King and the Royal Consort was an honour for all of them. Dwalin always selected a good mix of old hands and young beards, of warriors that had been on the road before and those that did it for the first time, of Dwarrow that had experienced the quirks of the Shire and those that had so far only heard about them. There had never been any issues and even the Hobbits had gotten used to the small Khazad invasion every couple of years.

Of course, this time there was a dark and somewhat sinister cloud hovering over their whole visit. Ever since Nori’s disturbing discovery regarding Thráin’s maker’s mark Dwalin felt that granite-heavy weight in the depth of his stomach. A weight he had managed to live with only with great difficulty and the cause of it still haunted many of his dreams to this day.

_Thráin_.

Thráin, who had grown restless and ill at ease when they finally had settled reasonably well in Ered Luin. The then King had summoned a large contingent of worthy warriors with orders to follow him back to Erebor, where he intended to see for himself whether Smaug was still alive. He had spoken of a secret plan and of their loyalty that was required and the honour it would bring them to follow their King. Aye, it had been a lot of ramblings, and most of it had not made much sense, even then, but loyalty Dwalin had always had in spades and honour was the only thing worth fighting for when one had little else. In any case, to refuse the King was not an option, so Dwalin had left Ered Luin with his brother and many other good and valid warriors. His heart had nearly broken to have to leave Thorin behind, and Dís. Thorin, who had been livid with his Adad for walking away from them for some fool’s errand and taking so many worthy hands with him, and Dís, who had not yet met her Víli and was struggling to make sense of a family that was falling apart before her very eyes.

From the outset Thráin’s forces had been harassed and hunted. Wolves pursuit them, orcs waylaid them, evil birds shadowed their path, and misfortunes opposed them every step. It would have been wise to turn back, but it reeked of defeat, too, and Thráin would have none of it. When they finally managed to make their way across the Misty Mountains Thráin was nearly delirious. It became abundantly clear then that the call of Erebor’s gold gnawed at his heart. His desire to take back the Lonely Mountain was clouded by madness. Now, of course, Dwalin knew that Thráin’s grand secret plan had been to sneak into the mountain via the secret door, and to steal the Arkenstone, much like Gandalf had designed to do at Thorin’s quest.

Only, Thráin did not have a Hobbit in his force and was already deranged before they even arrived at the Lonely Mountain, and therefor they were all doomed. Their severely diminished numbers had made camp at the edge of Mirkwood, recovering from yet another bloody skirmish with a band of orcs that had come out of nowhere. Dwalin had taken watch on his own, insisting on giving the others time to rest and recover. It had been bright daylight and visibility had been good enough to make out an enemy coming from miles away. Only then a sudden fog that crept up between the trees ensnared them unawares. Dwalin had just again walked the perimeter, had scanned the area, had counted his companions, had checked on his brother, on his King, who as ever sat and stared at the ground, muttering under his breath, his fingers twitching.

Then Dwalin had blinked.

And from one moment to the other visibility was gone, and so was Thráin. It had been pandemonium. They searched. They yelled, bellowed, cried for their King. They lost a handful more warriors and didn’t even ever see an enemy. Dark, foul forces were at work without a doubt. Now Dwalin knew it had been the dark forces from Dol Guldur. Now he knew that there would have been nothing he could have done to save his King. No ordinary weapon could be pitched against sorcery. Now that knowledge gave him some measure of peace and absolution. Back then, however, the thought of having failed his King’s trust, having failed in his role as watch, as protector had nearly crushed him. And worse, after finally making it back to Ered Luin, having to face Thorin and report his failings had been a huge blow to Dwalin’s self-esteem. Although it all was a century ago now and the reclaiming of Erebor had done much to soothe Dwalin’s regret and deep self-condemnation, memories of that dreadful journey under Thráin’s command still hunted his dreams on occasion. Where he would walk in his nightmares, endlessly searching, looking, calling, frantic, feeling helpless and lost and weak. Where he would hold his axes in his hands in an iron grip, body tense and coiled, ready to thwart an attack that never came. Fog would cloud his sight and fill his nose and throat and he’d wake sweating and choking and shaking like a leaf.

And aye, after years of less and less of those dreams - Durin curse them! - he’d had several in the last month alone.

Because of Nori and his discovery.

Thráin’s maker’s mark.

How was it possible? How could it be possible that Thráin had still been alive about fifty years ago? How could it be that Thráin forged Hobbit-sized items, including an iron-shaped rose? Where had he been when he forged these things? And who had he forged them for, because - a rose! Dwalin knew the meaning of flowers and blooms in the Shire well enough by now. Dwalin had touched the items Nori had brought to Erebor time and time again, delving into them deeply with his makansul. The result was always the same: all the weapons were made by dwarves. Dwalin sensed the fire of an outdoor forge in the metal, felt the distinct quality of each of those various dwarves. And he felt Thráin’s essence in all the Hobbit items. Dwalin’s makansul had always been strong, and he had learned to delve deep into it in all his years, but he wished he’d be one of the very few Khazad who could call upon clear images of those who crafted an item, be able to shift perspective and see what they would have seen at the time of their creation. Alas, he could not, and neither could Thorin. Regardless, Thráin’s involvement was as clear as the sun on a bright Shire morning. Even if that knowledge left them with more questions than answers.

At least until Nori would unravel the mystery.

But even after nearly a week at Bag End there was no message from Nori. The last word they had was that the Spymaster had arrived in Bree, had met with Mottek and sent the smith on his way to Ered Luin under the pretense of a family emergency. And that was that. Now they had to wait. Something that didn’t come naturally to Dwalin, the patience of waiting something out, on the contrary; it had been a hard-learned lesson during his many years as a soldier.

_Blast the plan_ , he though and silently cursed the ex-thief who had given him nothing but trouble while they still lived in Ered Luin. Because now Dwalin became painfully aware that Nori’s grand plan had a distinct flaw: there was no second measure they were supposed to activate or follow through with after a certain time. It all lay with Nori and if that failed for some unfathomable reason ...

Dori was twitchy, although he tried his best to hide it, and drank way too much tea. Thorin had been brooding again, although he tried his best to hide it. Balin turned quieter than usual, which told Dwalin that his brother was fighting similar memories as he did and was deeply concerned about the whole maker’s mark affair on top of it. Bilbo slapped strawberry jam on his buttered bread rolls with the force of an axe’s cheek at every Second Breakfast and baked more than ever before, meaning he was concerned as well. Dwalin was used to Hobbits using kitchen utensils for far more than just cooking by now, especially cooking spoons, ladles and rolling pins, but the mistreatment of the breakfast knife was new, even to him, and slightly disturbing.

The only one unaffected was Gimli. Because he wasn’t privy to the delicate affair and because he was _excited_ about being in the Shire.

Dwalin mulled over almost daily what could be done if there still was no word from Nori in another week or two. Should he volunteer himself to go to Bree and look around? See if the forge there was closed? See if Nori was anywhere around, or Mottek’s second smith? It would give him something to do. Truth be told, he wouldn’t mind being on his own for a bit. Away from everyone, away from Thorin and Bilbo. He loved his King, he really did, and nothing better could have happened to Thorin - who for years had gotten nowhere besides lost - than finding Bilbo, but _Mahal_ , sometimes it was a bit much being around them. The constant sappy smiles and fond looks. Gentle touches when they thought nobody was looking - which was never, really. It was all too much blissful marriage.

Of course, Thorin was lucky he had found Bilbo. No dwarrowdam had ever come forward to claim he was her True One and since he had his nephews who would continue the line of Durin the Councils had little leverage pushing for an arranged marriage, in Ered Luin and Erebor both. And the Hobbit, despite being called ‘a grocer’, alternately ignored and glowered at, had wormed himself into the hearts of everyone in the Company, but especially that of their broody King. Dwalin, in fact all of them, had had to realize that judging the fussy, slightly pudgy, homesick Hobbit as spineless and weak had been a big mistake, one that left them shamefaced and rueful: considering their years spent on Middle Earth they should have known better than to form an opinion about someone by looks and first impressions alone. He, Dwalin, should know near best of all, knowing only too well how quick others were to be wary of him because of his appearance, even his own kin. And aye, he was a dangerous dwarf, if he had to be. Dwarrow were a race of weapons and warfare; Dwalin would never deny that he relished the thrill of battle, and better at it than most he was. But in his heart of hearts he craved friendship and kindness, and although before Erebor he’d all but forgotten what it was like to have a place to call his own he cherished the comforts of a warm and safe home just as much as any Hobbit.

Certainly, as much as Bilbo Baggins cherished Bag End. And even though the Hobbit had come to make a home in Erebor as well it was clear to everyone who knew him that these visits to the Shire every few years were something their Royal Consort desperately needed. It was where he recharged his green senses and gave his Hobbit soul its due. It was lucky Bilbo was a Hobbit from a renowned family and as such had the means to have a prime smial such as Bag End unoccupied for such long periods of time, although Hamfast took good care of the place and its garden, and not a blade of grass was out of place every time the master of Bag End returned. All the responsibilities regarding the tenants and the lands the Baggins of Bag End had to lord had been handed over to a second cousin of Bilbo’s, Drogo, and his wife Primula, a first cousin of Bilbo’s. Bilbo was still in his prime and travelling no hardship just yet, but Dwalin could well see the time come where Drogo and Primula would take over the smial of Bag End as well.

Dwalin knew he’d miss coming to the Shire, and hopefully that decision was a long way in the future. Even though at present he was twitchy and restless and could not find anything to occupy himself to distract his mind from the various moods of those around him and keep his own sanity in check.

It began to grate on him.

Of course, it would be nice to drown out everything that was on his mind and weighed down his heart with plenty of ale. Or better still: with a good romp. Ale was easy to be had in the Shire, but Dwalin found he didn’t want to drown himself into oblivion. Partners willing for a romp could be found too, certainly in Tookland. And hadn’t that been quite a surprise to Dwalin, to all the Dwarrow, after the Hobbits’ initial hesitancy and shyness had been overcome.

Every celebration or birthday those Tooks - and also the Brandybucks - participated in had their unmarried lassies make eyes on him. It was not something Dwalin was used to, and it was a bit flattering, he would readily admit it. They’d giggle and blink at him, giving him easy smiles and winks, walking with their hips swaying and their curls dancing to entice him. There were touches, even, brushes against his hands or arms or back. He had even gotten a few light pats and pinches to his backside, without ever being able to pin down the one who’d done it, quickfooted and silent as they all were on their fury feet and using the crowd as well to disappear. It roused his blood, for sure; contrary to common belief a dwarf’s veins were not filled with rock, and all of the lasses looked comely enough, their soft skin and smooth cheeks not something that bothered him unlike, say, Glóin, who’d use such a moment to begin another ode to praise his Fárni’s glorious beard. But despite him finding them all rather agreeable none of the lassies that put themselves out there were really Dwalin’s type. Not that he had a type as such. He liked an honest lass, one that didn’t do the tricksy female games. He had no patience for that sort of thing. In a way that ruled all of them out, innocent enough as their attempts were.

Of course, she absolutely should and could not be a character like that Lobelia either. Dwalin did not like the dumpy hobbit at all, and not only because she was a right mean sort to Bilbo, even though she certainly did wear her heart on her sleeve at all times. But she was a nagging type and wore yellows and greens that were too bright even by Hobbit standards and tended to set them off with eye watering lilacs and magentas. She never smiled but always looked dour, critical and thoroughly condemning. She was the sort of character that would prompt a dwarf to rather stay alone until the coming of the Second Music than to bind himself to a lifetime of spousal misery, honour be damned.

Yes, Dwalin had been young once, even though it was a while ago now, and even if he had been young in years when Smaug came he had lost that youth of the mind that should have gone along with it very quickly in exile, and certainly in their war with the orcs. There had been tumbles, but they had all been with fellow warriors-lasses, and none had joined with him more than the odd night here or there. Dwalin could not be sure why, but even back then, when his body was still young and often raging with the vigour of youthful stamina he could not shake the feeling of _wrongness_ when he lay with someone else. As if he was not _meant_ to be doing it. As if it was the _wrong person_ he was sharing his passion with.

And maybe he wasn’t and maybe it had been.

Little was known now about the ancient times of their peoples and how Durin and the Seven Fathers began their life in Middle Earth after they woke from the slumber Eru Ilúvatar had commanded for them. Yet, Dwalin couldn’t help but reflect on the vague notions that sometimes seemed to breeze across his soul. Notions that were not his own. Notions that felt foreign and at the same time strangely familiar. It was easy to dismiss such thoughts, and his mind did so regularly, telling him it was no more than wishful thinking and foolish dreams. But being a warrior who relied on his instinct just as much as the strength of his arms and the sharpness of his axes Dwalin couldn’t help holding on to those strange notions deep in his heart. In the seclusion of his own self he nurtured them and allowed them to keep him warm when the granite-weight in his heart froze his spirit.

Who could be sure what Mahal had foreseen for him? Dwalin knew he could do no more than face every day with courage and determination. Yet, he could not deny that he would not mind sharing his life with another. Share touches and care. Share tenderness and fondness. The vague pull he sometimes felt could well be no more than his desire to have someone to do exactly that.

But no, accepting the advances of any of the Hobbit lasses was not in Dwalin’s interest. It may well help the strange ache in his soul for a little while, but in the long run it was not what he was after. Besides, it would only lead to gossip.

Dwarrow loved a good gossip. Dwalin was an exception. Gossipers usually thought they had done nothing wrong but in Dwalin’s opinion they often were crueler with their careless words than if they had stabbed someone in the back. If you asked Nori, he’d tell you that rumours, especially the scandalous ones, were the lifeline of the mountain.

Of course, the spy was good at sorting out the truth from the tittle-tattle. Dwalin, however, dealt in facts. You couldn’t arrest people for their talk, after all, unless it was disrespectful towards their King and the Consort, and aye, there had been one or two over the years who needed to be reminded that it was a fine line between idle gossip and slander. Hobbits loved gossip just as much as Dwarrow, Dwalin had learned early on. Maybe even more than food, Dwalin thought occasionally when walking through the market in Hobbiton, listening to the chitter-chatter around him while munching on one or two of Togo Diggle’s piping hot pies. And where a story-circle in Erebor would take a couple of weeks at most before everybody’s attention would wonder off to some new and equally juicy tidbit, Hobbits kept going on and on and on about the same old thing for decades. Maybe it was because overall there was just not a great deal happening in their lives.

In the Shire in general.

In Hobbiton in particular.

Certainly, Bilbo leaving with a gaggle of dwarves and a wizard to go on an adventure had easily topped the unconventional marriage of his father to Belladonna Took. That Bilbo Baggins married a dwarf and a King and quite happily lived inside a mountain for most of his time was not necessarily a surprise to the local residents, considering how odd of a pair his parents had been.

Still, they were nothing compared to Berylla Took, Bilbo aunt and his mother’s twin sister.

Despite their many fauntlings, twins were rare amongst Hobbits. Of course, they were all but unheard of amongst Dwarrow. And Berylla, apparently, was far more adventurous than even her twin sister had been in her hay day. In every sense of the word ‘adventurous’. After Belladonna had married Bungo and largely gave up her travelling urges, Berylla had left the Shire and was not seen for years. Rumour had it she was living somewhere in Bree-land - with a Man. _Can you imagine?_ the Hobbits still whispered at the market today.

No, Dwalin could not. Not size wise or otherwise. Then again, his dour King found love in a Hobbit, which was something nobody could have imagined either, including Dwalin, who knew Thorin better than most. So why could a Man not be that lucky? He’d be fed well that was sure. He’d probably be walking in sweat treats and cookie dough, blessed bastard. Dwalin wouldn’t mind being in his shoes. He sometimes dreamt of following the scent of butter and sugar. He preferred those kinds of dreams to those darker ones about Mirkwood. And even if his notions of this vague bond that stirred in the depths of his soul every so often were not towards whomever Mahal had crafted as Dwalin’s True One but a figment of his imagination, born of loneliness and the deepest wish for finding his perfect partner, Dwalin had never been able to let go of this dream.

And he certainly wouldn’t be able to now, after Ori’s discovery in the library of Erebor. That little book the scribe had unearthed amongst the thousands of either squashed or rotting pages. That little book in which Író Zirizarrab gave the account of Dwarrow couples that were bound in Blessed Bonds, where the dam not only recognized her mate and claimed him but where the dwarf was described to feel Mahal’s will in his very soul and without a doubt.

Impossible to explain.

Unimaginable to ignore.

Ridiculous to imagine.

Blessed Ones, with their minds and souls bonded from the moment they lay eyes on each other, inseparable in heart, body and mind until the end of the world. Unfathomable.

And yet, Dwalin would happily volunteer himself to experience such a thing.

But how could he ever be so lucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> makansul – that what is sensed = thing sense  
> when Bilbo slaps jam on his bread with his knife: either side of an axe’s head is called the cheek, so I guess one could say Bilbo is rather forceful 😉  
> Zirizarrab - Golden Writings


	9. Fire in the Forge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of lightning strikes and dense pillows

(Ruby)

Ruby ran.

As soon as she heard a bang that was so loud that her ears rattled and the ground shook she pushed the barrel out of the way, crawled out of her hiding place, grabbed the pillowcase she’d prepared as her knapsack and ran to the forge. Smoke pillowed up behind it and there was a gap in the compound’s charred palisaded wall. Ruby nearly tripped over her own feet in surprise. She saw Nori and Kirvi, weapons in hand and posed to fight, urgently motioning for her to come to them, and she did.

She dodged Tobyas and a few others that were on their way to the dwarves, drawing their swords as they went. One got a hand on her, nearly bringing her down, but he suddenly let go with a pained groan and fell to the ground.

Ruby didn’t turn to look what happened to him.

Nori had said he would take care of it. That she needed to focus solely on getting away. She believed him. She had no other choice. Not now anyway. If they caught her now she’d be suffering badly. Tanner would show no mercy, she knew. He’d make her suffer and in the end would bury her so deep not even the roots of a walnut tree would find her body. And really, she could not _bear_ to be a prisoner and a slave any longer. She _wanted_ to get to Hobbiton. She _needed_ to get to Hobbiton. She _had_ to make it there. She just had to. Nori said she would be safe there. Nori did so much more than anybody else ever had been able to do. He was a dangerous dwarf. But she believed him. She believed him especially _because_ he was a dangerous dwarf.

No dogs barked and no dogs howled and none seemed to chase after her as she sprinted past Kirvi, towards the smoking hole in the palisade. The smith grinned widely and whooped as she ran. Nori’s smile was sharp and his voice was the last thing she heard. “Mahishki!” It gave her wings. Ruby ran out of the compound and turned west, running as fast as her legs would carry her.

She ran until her lungs burned and she had a stitch in her side.

She ran until she threw up, her breath came in painful wheezes and she had to slow down.

And even then did she keep moving. Struggling along she walked until night fell and it was too dark to take another step. Ruby curled up on soft moss under a beech tree and tried to steady her heart and rest for a while. But every sound, every creaking of the trees in a light breeze and every sound of night animals made her jump in fright. She almost cried in relief when the dark of the night turned into soft greys with the rising of the sun. As soon as it was light enough to see her surroundings she was up and consulted the map Nori had given her.

Indeed, it was written the way Men wrote their [maps](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/fd/cb/3e/fdcb3eb9efc1eabc3c8ffad68014123c.jpg), with north at the top. According to Nori, Tanner’s compound was somewhere in the woods between the Midgewater Marshes and the tiny village of Staddle, about a day’s journey south of Bree. Ruby had to acknowledge that it was the perfect location: with the Lone Lands to the south and the Barrow Downs to the west it really was as far off the trodden path as it possibly could be. No traveler would accidently stumble on it. Further south overgrown stone ruins were reminding of ages past and a long-forgotten history of Beleriand, and might interest the history-minded traveler; she herself had never been this far south but her Adad had told her about the area, and about the ruins. It had always been a place they had planned to travel to, some day.

Following Nori’s map and what stone and soil under her feet told her she continued her way east until she came across a partially overgrown road. She promptly recognized it as the Greenway, the ancient North-West Road from Andrath. She followed it, keeping at quite a distance and cutting across the terrain where the road made a wide berth to embrace a lake and a distant farm.

Wide, grassy expanse with clusters of trees gave her a cover to rush from one to the next to keep herself hidden. A group of acorn trees gave her a chance to stop and collect a few handfuls of last-years yield, forgotten or overlooked by the animals in the area. It gave her something to munch on while she walked, the chewing helping stave away the hunger a little, even if it made her thirst increase tenfold. Resolved to use her water as sparingly as possible she only took small sips from her waterskin and drank instead from every rivulet or small stream she came across. Picking wild berries and herbs as she walked she did her best ration her provisions. It helped that she never truly dared stopping to rest; one ate differently while walking then one did when one took the time to spread out their fare. But her insides still were in a frenzy and her ears strained to pick up on anything following her from behind. There was nothing, and that was a good thing, but it also made her even more nervous and jumpy.

Evening came and with it an eerie wind that chilled her heart and her bones, both. Her hands were cold, despite being constantly on her feet and moving; it made it difficult to clutch to the knife she had taken from Tanner’s kitchen. The thought of having to settle down on the cold ground was not appealing, but once thick clouds made the night pitch-black dark she had no choice. Curling up under a tree she tried to ignore the howling wind and catch some sleep, only to jump up in panic when she realized it was not the wind that was howling. Climbing a tree in a dark night was not fun, even if one had a Hobbit’s nimble climbing skills, but Ruby was resolved not to have made her escape from Tanner to become a wolf’s dinner.

The howling could be heard all night, but it didn’t come closer and moved farther away when morning finally came. The wind picked up, adding to her discomfort, but it blew the thick clouds away. _Small mercies_.

Still staying parallel to the road, she spotted a marker around midday; she waited considerable time to make sure no cart or rider suddenly came up or down the Greenway before creeping close enough to be able to read the signs. It confirmed her guess and Nori’s map: Bree was to her east and the foggy haze to her left were indeed the cursed hills of the Barrowdowns. Her Adad had told her enough about them to stay well clear but she decided to cut across land anyway, not wanting to remain anywhere near the road. She left the Greenway and rushed through Hobbit-high brambles of wild blackberry and endless clusters of broom, heather and buckthorn. It gave her cover enough and wasn’t a path any rider would take, as it was too cumbersome to guide any mount through the thicket. Of course she fought endless prickles and scratches, thorns and sharp branches snatching on her clothes and her hair. It was exhausting but Ruby still felt relatively safe; Tanner’s Men would not be able to follow her here, and neither woodsmen nor hunter would venture into it either. By nightfall she lay down under the gnarled, spiky branches of an old blackberry and, nibbling on the last of her hard cheese, fell into a fitful sleep. She was up well before the sun, feet sore and mood frail.

With the pale misty hills of the Barrowdowns to her left and the murky haze of the Old Forest before her Ruby wasn’t surprised when she eventually ended up near the Great East Road, the stone pavement long gone but the tamped rubble that had been put there as an underlying layer for drainage was still there, and told her of thousands of feet and carts that had made their way along it. Even without a map she would not have missed it.

She kept on its southside until midday, but Ruby had no intention passing the Old Forest at close proximity; she waited until the Great East Road stretched out nice and visible in both directions before she carefully edged closer and – in a sudden rush of fear – raced across and into the rolling fields of Brandy Hills. North of the road now, she rested in the shade for a bit after her mad dash, until her breath settled down and her heart stopped racing. Her thirst was tremendous now and she gave in to a few big sips from her water. Followed to the parallel of the road, as much as possible hidden in the shrubs and dense bushes and tall weeds as possible. She pressed hard, not wanting to rest, hoping she’d make it to the Brandywine Bridge before nightfall. But when the sun began sinking down to the horizon Ruby had to admit defeat and crawled into the ditch to sleep. She was exhausted, and if not for the fear of getting caught by Tanner and dragged back she wouldn’t have cared and given in to her tiredness and seized her frantic rushing. But her mind told her to remain vigilant; she was so close to the Shire, but all still could be lost if she was found now.

The weather was kind and the sun rose early, and Ruby was up without delay. It would not have been long past first breakfast when she made it to the Brandywine Bridge. 

A few Hobbits stood about, all of them wearing the same kind of clothing: brown trousers and green shirts, tied together with leather belts that held short swords. Some wore quivers on their backs and held bows in their hands. Around their necks were yellow kerchiefs. _Bounders_ , she recognized.

She hesitated a moment, thinking of the knife in her pocket; it would be little use against so many foes, but Hobbits where not Men after all, and she needn’t fear them; slowly she walked towards them.

They turned as one when they saw her coming.

“Good morning,” she greeted friendly, fully aware of her rugged appearance, and made sure to give them a careful smile, while continuing in her path.

They stared at her.

Rather rudely, to be honest. Yes, she was well aware she didn’t look her finest, but there was no need to _stare_.

She nearly made it all the way across the bridge when one of them pulled his sword (Khazad made if she was not mistaken) and barred her way. “And just where do you think you’re going?” he asked. He wore a cap, with a feather hanging off it, and he moved sure and in a way that showed he was used to give commands and be given respect. A Shirriff. His eyes looked her up and down and he frowned.

“I am on my way to visit relations in Hobbiton,” she said and made sure to keep her tone polite. “I am unarmed,” she said and held up her arms as if to prove it, hoping her lie wouldn’t show on her face.

The Hobbit didn’t move. His eyes bore into her and his body language was not friendly.

Suddenly, Ruby felt very tired and weary. “Please,” she pleaded softly, “I’ve had a rough time of late. All I want is to get to Hobbiton, where I’ll be safe-“

“What are you?” the Hobbit interrupted her rudely.

Ruby bristled. “What do you mean ‘ _what am I_ ’?” she asked and folded her arms.

“Well, you’re obviously not a Hobbit,” he said in a very arrogant tone.

“I beg your pardon?” Ruby couldn’t believe her ears and her heart constricted. “Why would you think that?”

He pointed the tip of his sword at her boots. “No Hobbit would ever wear those,” he stated simply with a sneer. Then he straightened and lifted his sword, pointing it at her throat.

The blood pounded through Ruby’s body. “I need to get to Hobbiton,” she said again, balling her fists.

The Hobbit resolutely shook his head. “You look like trouble,” he announced, his face hard, “And they don’t want trouble in Hobbiton, especially at the moment. You’re coming with me to the Master of Buckland. He’ll decide what to do with you.” He stepped forward to grab her.

It sounded terribly like what the Men had said when they took her from her home. Ruby stepped back, dodging his hand, but bumped into another Hobbit, who firmly took hold of her arm. Becoming terribly frightened, Ruby tried again. “Please, let me go to Hobbiton. I have family there.”

They laughed then, as if she had said the most outrageous thing. When they settled down once more the Shirriff motioned for them to take her and commanded “Let’s go!” and then several things happened very quickly:

First, Ruby kicked him into the stones. Hard. He went down with a pained groan. Then she rammed her elbow into the stomach of the Hobbit that held her arm, dropping her knapsack. He let out a grunt and let her go. Another flew into the dirt as she easily flung him over her shoulder. She picked up the sword the Shirriff had dropped when he fell to his knees and swung it in a wide arch, keeping the others at bay. When they moved farther back and one of the archers hooked an arrow Ruby knew she had run out of options: she dropped the sword, turned on her heel and jumped off the bridge, into the rushing waters of the Brandywine.

The current was strong and she was swept away immediately. She knew that the Buckleberry Ferry was some twenty miles downstream of the Brandywine Bridge, where the water would be calmer. Trying to stay afloat she turned and saw the Hobbits from the bridge running. Some jumped on ponies. A horn signal sounded.

The current tossed Ruby about and dunked her. She swallowed a lot of water and her long braids went over her face so she couldn’t see clearly for a while.

After what felt like forever being tossed about she saw the ferry ahead. Fighting the current, she paddled as hard as she could to make it to shore way before reaching it. She managed, just, climbing up between some reeds. The horn signal sounded again in the distance. Coughing and spluttering, she kept crawling, keeping to the high grass and bushes at the side of the road for cover until she felt it safe to get to her feet.

Then she ran once more. The horn signal was farther back, but it still kept going at regular intervals, following after her.

Ruby ran.

She wanted to slap herself. She had told them where she was going to go. They knew the area much better than her, they’d likely take shortcuts and wait for her before she made it to her destination.

Nearly sobbing with fear and desperation, Ruby bent at her waist over for a moment under a willow tree to catch her breath. She could either make a wide detour, far south and wait for a day or two before trying to get to Hobbiton again.

 _Or I just keep running_ , she thought, and that’s what she did.

Blindly she ran through fields where yellowing winter barley still stood tall and could only be a few days from being harvested. At the edges of the fields she passed spring weeds that stood tall enough to hide her well enough, and as she trusted her senses to lead her to the center of the Shire she didn’t need to worry about roads or paths. Knowing her maps well she would easily find her way to Hobbiton from the Three-Farthing Stone. She left Woodhall and the forest to the left and the sign to Whitfurrows to her right. Several times she had to cross roads and paths from one field to the other. She saw no other Hobbits and kept her head down, focusing on her steps. She nicked some early radishes from an open garden in passing, munched on hairy bittercress that she plucked from the gravel near a low wall and only stopped to drink from a little stream. She became increasingly tired and this mad dash journey of hers didn’t seem to want to come to an end. A little niggling bit of despair reared its head at the back of Ruby’s mind but she shoved it down ruthlessly. The sun was long past its zenith when she finally stumbled over a sign that read ‘Hobbiton’. _Finally_! Hope gave her another burst of speed.

She crossed a small bridge when the horn signal sounded again, frightfully near this time. Looking around wildly she spotted the hill and an oak on top of it.

 _Please let it be the right place_ , she prayed as she ran through a now largely deserted marketplace, past Hobbits on their way home, finished with their daily chores and ready for dinner.

“There she is!” a voice yelled, “Stop her! Stop!”

Ruby did not stop, instead dodged some errand pigs and roaming chickens on her wild chase, tumbled into some Hobbit matrons and masters, making them squawk indignantly and drop their bags, baskets and walking sticks. Outraged shrieks and angry voices followed her as she dashed past, but she kept running, knowing she was nearly at the end of her endurance.

Up the hill, not sticking to the path but going up, up, up, over grassy roofs, vaulting over chimneys and ducking under clothes lines. Until she - finally - reached the smial on the top of the hill, right under the oak tree.

There were people in front of the smial. It looked like they just came back from somewhere, maybe they had been doing their own late afternoon stroll.

Ruby saw the green, round door.

And she saw Dwarrow. Several of them. Her heart rejoiced. Nori had said they would be here. Now she would be safe. She stopped for a moment, doubling over, panting, and holding her side.

“Stop her!” The voices came closer again.

The Dwarrow turned towards the commotion. Ruby immediately recognized the dwarf Nori had mentioned: tall, with long, black hair, just like Nori had described him. The dwarf carried himself effortless and proudly, proficiency and strength oozing off him. She pushed aside the thought that he looked vaguely familiar and trusted that he was someone that could keep her safe. She smiled and turned her feet towards him when her eyes caught another: he was tall as well, a very well-built dwarf, with a bushy beard and thick hair, but the top of his head was bald and decorated with tattoos. He carried himself in a military manner, wore a lose green tunic that offered a peek at his hairy chest, and even though he openly wore no other weapons than a double bit axe at his belt Ruby knew instinctively where he carried several concealed knives on his body. The dwarf fully turned as he looked at her, a frown on his face, his body alert and relaxed at the same time.

Their eyes met.

His gaze hit her like a lightning strike.

Her heart near burst.

Without thinking her feet carried her past the dark-haired dwarf and to _him_ and when she was only a few steps away she launched herself at him with her last bit of strength, wrapping her arms around his strong neck. “Master Dwarf,” she panted with a painful wheeze, “You have caught my eye,” she heard herself saying, just like Luda did to Lothin in the story, “Will you be mine?”

The dwarf’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at her words. He had caught her easily, instinctively; his body didn’t even recoil from the force she jumped him with, and his arms came around her to hold her safely. Tears welled up in her eyes, unbidden. He was big. He was strong. And Ruby felt _safe_. Bending her head she buried her nose into his beard. The dwarf made a sound as if he choked on his breath, but his arms didn’t let go of her. Lifting her head she looked into his eyes. They were a dark grey, dark grey like metal and rock. Like steel and granite.

She smiled at him.

He stared at her.

She kissed him on the lips. He froze and Ruby withdrew. _What madness is this?_ she thought suddenly, a slither of decorum coming back to the forefront of her mind. _What am I doing?_ She was about to unwind her arms from around his neck and let go when his arms tightened around her and he kissed her back. Firm, velvety lips moved over hers. Astonished, Ruby discovered the softness of his beard. A hot tongue cautiously touched her bottom lip. Ruby moaned, dug her fingers into the thick hair at his neck and reciprocated, opening her mouth and rubbing her tongue over his. The kiss became heated then, passionate. Ruby felt dazed in an odd sort of way, like someone had just whacked her over the head with a dense feather pillow. Her heart pounded in her chest and her blood felt like it was on fire. Something in her soul sang and she was sure she heard the distinct clang of a mighty hammer on an anvil. Oh, Mahal, she had never been kissed before, and to think her first kiss would be like this!

Ruby forgot everything around her. The only thing that mattered was this dwarf that kissed her as if she were his lifeline, his heart, his _everything_.

When - after what could have been an age and yet it was not long enough - the tall dwarf extracted himself with a breathless moan and held her by her arms to look into her flushed face, alarm, shock, astonishment and giddiness ghosting over his gruff features in rapid succession, Ruby tentatively smiled at him. His grey eyes lit up and he smiled back, immediately leaning in for another kiss. Someone cleared their throat pointedly, and with much regret Ruby withdrew from the dwarf’s lips.

She twisted in his arms and looked around for the source of the interruption.

“Lass,” a dwarf much shorter than the tattooed one, with white hair and a long, rather impressive white, pronged beard called her attention. He had a rather kind air, but he didn’t smile, and his eyes were a cool, critical blue reminding her of a late autumn sky. “Lass, who are you?”

The dark-haired dwarf stared at her, too, but a small smile played around his mouth. Next to him was a Hobbit that also looked oddly familiar, holding his pipe. He grinned as well. The bounders stood on the path near the gate, flustered and angry looking, but they didn’t interrupt and they didn’t come closer. Probably because of several heavily armed Dwarrow soldiers nearby, who all observed without interfering.

“Lass?” the white-haired dwarf asked again.

_Oh._

_Of course!_

Ruby extracted herself from the tall dwarf, who set her down on her feet gently, and curtsied quickly, followed by a deep bow, trying to stay steady on her throbbing legs. “Ruby Makhdûna, daughter of Berylla Took and Thráin, son of Thrór, at your service.”

There were gasps from the soldiers and the Hobbits that were within earshot. The white-haired dwarf’s eyes turned wide as saucers. The Hobbit’s chin dropped, and his pipe. The dark-haired dwarf seemed to turn to stone as his smile froze and slid off his face.

There was dead silence for a moment.

Ruby shivered at the sudden change in mood, feeling like a dry leaf in the gale-forced winds of a wild autumn storm.

The dwarf she had kissed had tensed behind her at her words and removed his hands from her hips. And that, on top of feeling lightheaded and beyond exhausted, did it: her legs buckled under her and the ground came up to greet her.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bom bom booooom!  
> The cat is out the bag. Well done to all who guessed Ruby’s parents correctly 😉
> 
> Mahishki! – Flee!  
> Makhdûna – Blend of all Blends, Ruby’s epithet.
> 
> Distances are a fickle thing in Tolkien’s verse. Tolkien’s writings vary greatly from his maps. Movies and fanfiction have muddled things further. For this story, I’ve settled on these facts:  
> Bree to Brandywine Bridge – a day’s journey. Ergo three days seem reasonable from somewhere south of Bree, especially when cutting across the land and not staying on the road.  
> Brandywine Bridge to Hobbiton – twenty miles. Quote from a thread called ‘The Shire’s Distance Problems’: Real people can move 20 miles in a day. (This was expected of a Roman legion, for instance.) Tolkien wrote that the Númenóreans marched 8-12 leagues per day, and although the league is a nonstandard measure in the real world (2½ – 3 miles), Tolkien seems to have been using a nearly 3-mile league, the Númenórean lár (Unfinished Tales, the appendix “Númenórean Linear Measures”). Let’s assume halflings would move half as far as a Númenórean (not necessarily a good assumption), so may we say 12-18 miles a day for hobbits on foot? (Source: https://www.thetolkienforum.com/threads/the-shires-distance-problems.18613/) – ergo Ruby makes it from the Brandywine Bridge to Hobbiton in a day, from just after sunrise until just before sunset, but she goes as the crow flies, not following paths or roads.
> 
> The map I’ve stuck to rather closely is linked in the text. Full credit to www.lotrointerface.com.


	10. Small and Sensitive Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin muses on the turn of events

(Balin)

They heard the door fall shut and a moment later Bilbo came into the sitting room, where Thorin and Dwalin were pacing and Gimli sat on the couch with a look of entertained attention on his face. Balin held tight to his mug of tea, the warmth of it seeping into his fingers, keeping him grounded. _The day sure has turned out different than expected_ , he mused, feeling oddly calm, despite the stone shattering revelations.

“I’ve managed to send the bounders away,” Bilbo said, running a hand through his curly hair, “They have no business here. Family can visit each other for tea, after all. Even if it’s family one hasn’t known before.”

Thorin stopped in his tracks. “You’re accepting her that quickly?” he bit out darkly, “Yet you know it’s impossible that what she says is the truth. She is an imposter. She has to be!”

Balin didn’t think she was, but he could well understand that Thorin would find it tremendously difficult to come to terms with it.

Bilbo waved his hand dismissively, completely unimpressed by the King’s glower. “Have you looked at her, Thorin? She looks like you and Dís. Same hair, same Durin blue eyes.” He sighed. “And she looks like my mother. Same shape face, same chin and nose, same way of moving. Remember my mother and Berylla were identical twins. Miss Ruby is clearly a Hobbit, and she is also Khazad. Her feet are proof of that. And seriously, if she did lie, it would be an outrageous lie. Who could come up with something like that?” Bilbo fell into his armchair heavily. “I do believe she tells the truth. Which makes her my cousin. And your half-sister,” he points at the King before spreading his hands, “It makes her family.”

Thorin clenched his fists. “It’s not possible,” he muttered stubbornly.

“Thráin would be a very old dwarf, even by our standards,” Balin mused, wondering if their former King would storm into their life just as Miss Ruby had. “And the lass ...?” He shrugged.

“It’s difficult to judge her age,” Bilbo agreed, “Berylla would be a century next year, like my mother. Ruby looks a good decade or two younger than I, but then again, if she is half Dwarrow, she’d age differently. But she does look very much of age, this newfound cousin of mine.” Bilbo looked at Balin and dipped his chin pointedly at Dwalin.

Aye, no matter her age, she certainly did look older than any Tween and very much like a grown Hobbit lass. But could she be considered of age by Khazad standards? _If she is indeed the result of the joining of a Hobbit and a Dwarf this is a matter that can be debated until all mines in Erebor run dry_ , Balin thought and gave a nod to Bilbo, conveying he understood his meaning.

“If she told the truth, this newfound cousin of yours would also be a princess of Durin’s line,” Balin added calmly. A daughter of Thráin, son of Thrór. Indeed, the ramifications of another daughter to the royal line would be huge. But Balin found that wasn’t really what he cared about just now. “But what’s more: she’s claimed my Naddith as her One. And they are Blessed Ones, by the looks of it.” _Individual flames flickering towards each other, crossing paths as if guided by the secret steps of an unheard cosmic music_ , Író wrote in his _Quiddity of Ones_.

 _How apt_ , Balin thought. He shot a look at his brother, who froze in his track to rub a hand over his face. “Aye,” the warrior said and sighed heavily, “Aye, she is that.” His big hand went to his chest and rubbed at a spot just left of his breastbone. “The moment our eyes met it was as if Mahal pushed his very hand into my chest to squeeze my heart.” He shook his bald head and began pacing again. “I can _feel_ her from here. I can feel her emotions her from here, can almost guess at her thoughts,” he muttered, expression one of confused awe, “It is too bizarre.”

“You are not the first one who found his One under the most unusual circumstances,” Balin smiled, “Whatever her parentage, it is a comfort to know that Mahal somehow had a hand in bringing her here.”

Thorin muttered something under his breath that sounded much like ‘fine sense of humour’ and began pacing again. Balin couldn’t tell whether that meant _him_ or Mahal having a fine sense of humour. He shared another pointed look with Bilbo, the Hobbit rubbing his nose. It wasn’t hard to see the distress in the Royal Consort’s eyes. The whole One-business was not easy to deal with for one of a race that didn’t have Ones, nor for a Dwarf who bound himself to one of the same gender simply because he fell in love. While Bilbo’s and Thorin’s union was a happy one, the potential of a dam declaring Thorin as hers would always have to be in the back of their minds. Dwalin and Ruby certainly provided a vivid reminder of how little personal ideas mattered in light of Mahal’s will. For the first time ever Balin wondered if Thráin would approve of Thorin’s choice of mate. He sighed deeply, clutching his mug.

Dori came into the room and immediately all eyes turned towards him. “The lass is fine,” he said, “A bit shaken, is all. She says she’s run a long while and hasn’t eaten properly in a bit, nor rested more than a few hours every night. She’s a bit frazzled and not quite herself, so I left it at that. I said I’ll make her a tray and then she can sleep. All talk can happen later.” The prim dwarf looked at Thorin and hesitated, but Thorin missed it because he began pacing again.

“What is it?” Balin wanted to know. _No point beating about the bush._

Dori’s eyes went to him. “The lass, Ruby-” he began.

Thorin turned towards him. “Yes?” he barked impatiently when Dori broke off.

“She’s wearing a bead,” Dori continued slowly, “I saw it when I helped her get changed and she undid her tight pleats. It’s well hidden. A thin braid from behind her ear, hidden in her thick hair. A daughter’s braid. Held together by a small bead, wood by the looks of it.”

 _Well._ Balin could tell Thorin was torn between itching to barge into the lassies room to examine said bead and to wave the very idea off as preposterous.

“You helped her get changed?” Dwalin’s voice sounded both incredulous and a little irritated.

Balin snorted. Naturally, that’s what his little brother would pick up on.

Dori straightened and looked at the tall warrior. “Of course I helped her get changed,” he retorted with a bit of bite, “Can hardly let her lie down in those torn and dirty clothes she wore, now can I? And she was still a bit unstable on her feet. Enough she fainted outside, I didn’t want to risk her falling on her face while she had to get changed herself. She’s all confused and shaken, barely heard a word I said and when I introduced myself. Besides,” he continued in a grumble, “her clothes were quite damp in patches, as if she’d had a good soaking not long ago.”

“Soaking?” Dwalin echoed. Then he frowned. “It didn’t rain.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “That would be from when she jumped into the Brandywine River.”

“Jumped into the Brandywine River?” Dwalin echoed again and Balin suppressed rolling his eyes.

The Royal Consort had no such composure of course, rolling his eyes at the burly warrior and sighing at the same time. “She came up at Brandywine Bridge. The bounders stopped her. She told them she was to see family in Hobbiton. They didn’t believe her, naturally, and tried to take her to the Master of Brandyhall. It appears she didn’t take kindly to that. She kicked one in the stones, elbowed another in the stomach, flipped one over her shoulder, and when the archers aimed at her she jumped off the bridge. The current must have carried her almost to Buckleberry Ferry, because that’s where they eventually picked up her trail.”

Dwalin gaped. For once, Balin couldn’t blame him. The lass seemed quite tenacious.

“Obviously they chased after her then, which explains the horn signals that had everyone in a hubbub, and her general state when she arrived at Bag End,” Bilbo finished, folding his hands before his stomach.

“She ran all the way from Buckleberry Ferry?” Gimli sounded impressed but faltered when Thorin shot him a glare that clearly said praise for the lass was not something he wanted to hear.

“They tried to take her away by force?” Dwalin growled, balling his fists.

“It’s their job,” Bilbo said and rolled his eyes again when Dwalin bristled, “Oh, don’t you give me that. What would the guards at the Great Gate of Erebor do if a dwarf with pointy ears shows up that looks like he slept in the wilds for weeks and tried to just stroll into the mountain, telling them that he’d come to visit relations. They’d detain him, too, until it’s clear that he’s not lying and no danger to anyone.”

“My lassie is no danger to anyone,” Dwalin growled.

Bilbo sniffed tartly. “I beg to differ. So would the Shirriff; he still speaks in an unusually high voice and walks funny.”

Everyone winced, including Dwalin, but he looked rather pleased at the same time.

“You said she has no Hobbit feet,” Thorin commented haughtily.

“She doesn’t. Her feet are small,” Bilbo agreed easily, his eyes glittered. “Like yours. But she wears boots, like Dwarrow do.”

Thorin straightened to his full majestic height. “I do not have small feet,” he declared indignantly.

“Yes, you do,” the Hobbit disagreed, “And they’re sensitive, too.” He grinned, unabashed.

The King glared. Balin hid a grin in his mug as he took a drink from his tea. Dwalin grinned, too, but wasn’t quick enough at hiding it when Thorin’s eyes settled on him reproachfully. Thorin pointed an accusing finger at Dwalin. “You’re doomed,” he proclaimed, “She already swallowed your tongue before even letting you speak one word. She’ll be completely taking over your life and you won’t even know what hit you.”

Gimli burst out laughing, quickly trying to stifle it behind his hand.

Dwalin shrugged lazily. “Can’t wait,” he grinned.

Sharing an amused look with Dori, Balin intervened. “She certainly seemed to have a sense of urgency to get here,” he commented, thinking of her disheveled appearance and her raven hair in a tangle of curly snarls. “I’m sure she’ll tell us all we want to know once she’s rested a bit and has eaten something.” Like the whereabouts of Thráin, son of Thrór.

“I’ll keep her company till then,” Dwalin said and was about to turn and march off the room.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Balin raised his voice and met his Naddith’s glare evenly, “You’re both clearly very affected by each other and shouldn’t be on your own. You most definitely will not be going anywhere near her without a chaperone.” Balin continued firmly when Dwalin opened his mouth to protest. “Let’s not forget: if Ruby is Thorin’s half-sister, she’s also Dís’ half-sister.” Dwalin’s mouth snapped shut and he paled. “Exactly,” Balin nodded, biting back a grin at his brother’s mortification. “You will have a chaperone or not be around her at all until things are settled well and proper. And that’s final.” Balin was determined not to create a situation he potentially would have to explain to Dís or Thráin.

“You can spend some time with her while she eats,” Dori said amicably, “And I’ll stay with you.”

“Thank you, Dori,” Balin said kindly, suppressing to roll his eyes when his brother made a grimace and began pacing again, “We appreciate your help, and I’m sure she does, too.”

Bilbo got to his feet. “I help you get a tray ready,” he said and went with Dori to the kitchen.

Balin sipped at his tea that was now a pleasant room temperature. Chamomile and lemon verbena and a little honey, very soothing. He needed that now. Eyeing his Naddith and his King, who were each on the best way to wear a grove into Bilbo’s floor he couldn’t help but shake his head with a soft smile. Yes, the day certainly had turned out differently than expected, he thought, only to narrow his eyes at his Naddith who had stopped in his pacing momentarily and stood trancelike with an expression on his face that left no doubt as to where his thoughts were headed just now. Dwalin shook himself, feeling his brother’s reprimanding glare, shrugged lightly and _very unrepentant_ and continued pacing. Balin knew well that his little brother - for all his rough demeanour and prowess in battle - craved tenderness, and many times Balin had sent a prayer to Mahal for letting Dwalin’s One find him. That she’d show up the way she did, flinging herself into the warrior’s arms, claiming him as hers and him reacting to her like the dwarves in Író Zirizarrab’s book ... well, that certainly had not been what Balin had anticipated.

Ever.

And yet, he could not bring himself to mind. On the contrary, he was rather intrigued to find out more about this lassie. Ruby Mahdûna. There was no doubt she would have quite the story to tell. Certainly, the questions about Thráin’s whereabouts would be first. Proper introductions would have to be made. Letters written. The next steps planned.

After a little while Bilbo traipsed down the hallway, tray in hand, and Dwalin joined Dori to follow the Hobbit.

Gimli got to his feet. “I go see our warriors. Trying to reign in the gossip.” Balin gave him a nod of approval; for the idea itself and for having the sense to give them some privacy. The young dwarf had surprising moments of tact, a trait that clearly came from his Amad. When they heard the door fall shut Thorin turned to Balin. “You cannot tell me you believe it.”

Balin didn’t have to ask what ‘it’ was. He took another sip of his tea. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. She’s bound to my house now. Mahal has destined her for Dwalin, and I will accept her and welcome her into our family.” He looked at his King who stared at him incredulously and sighed. “Thorin, there is no point running your mind in circles before we actually had a chance to speak with the lass. She clearly has a tale to tell, and tell it she will, and we will get our chance to ask questions and hopefully find the answers we seek. It ties in with all the oddities we have come across of late, with Thráin’s maker’s mark, with the items he forged about fifty years ago. Let her rest and we may solve it all when talking to her. There’s no need to get your beard in a twist before that.”

The King huffed, obviously not in the least bit appeased.

Bilbo came back into the room, wearing a soft smile on his face. He met Balin’s eyes. “She’s wearing my mother’s dressing gown,” he said and settled in his armchair. “Berylla made it for her, as a wedding gift. Purples, lilacs, dark pinks; a variety of shades of the Belladonna flower. She got the fabrics especially sent from all the way South.” He stared into the flames of the fire. “How strange fate can be. To think that the only Hobbit in the Shire that was named after a mineral would end up with a Dwarf. And here we thought for all these years that we lost Berylla to a Man. Instead she was with a Dwarf, and together they made a ruby.” Bilbo smiled softly at his husband, only to sigh deeply when Thorin arrested in his movements and looked at him, his brow in a furious scowl. “You’re being facetious,” the dwarf commented icily.

Bilbo’s face fell. “Facetious?”

 _Oh, Thorin_. Balin put his mug down and readied himself for his King to have his mood take over from his brain and dictate the words that came out of his mouth.

With deliberate calmness the Hobbit put the fingers of his hands together in a triangle, tapping them lightly against each other. “I am assuming you’re referring to my joke about the ruby, and if so I apologize. It was not my intent to be flippant about how most couples beget their offspring. For I certainly don’t think you would call it facetious that it’s a Dwarf and a Hobbit who came together in an intimate way?”

Thorin ignored the comment and dismissively waved his hand. “It is an absurd notion.”

Balin wanted to bury his head in his hands. _He really does have a talent of putting his foot into his mouth._

Bilbo tilted his head, a small crease appearing on his forehead. “Why? Why is it so absurd to think that - against all odds - your father and my aunt would have found each other?”

Thorin’s furious gaze fell on his husband. “My father would never have associated himself with a female that clearly had the wildest tendencies,” he spat. “One that readily forsook her family, her kin, shed all and any responsibilities only to seek adventure. And oh, I’m sure she had plenty of _adventure_. All those rumours would not be circulating for nothing. My father was a dwarf of honour. My mother was not his One but he would have been faithful to her to his dying moment regardless, unless he found his One, which can’t have been your Hobbit aunt. Whatever Thráin was after he disappeared in Mirkwood I assure you that he _never_ would have forgotten himself in such a way that it would have resulted in a child. Never!”

Balin frowned, not at all liking Thorin’s interpretation of Berylla’s lifestyle. He had long learned that not all was as it seemed, and he did not believe that Berylla didn’t have a good reason to leave the Shire, and her family, as she did. He doubted very much that promiscuity was it.

Bilbo blinked. Then he slowly got to his feet. “Are you insinuating that Berylla Took was some frivolous, shallow slattern, out to seduce Man or Dwarf for no other reason than her own enjoyment and to bring down their integrity?” His voice had turned cold.

Thorin snorted, the unspoken confirmation clear on his face.

“Might I remind you that she was my mother’s twin sister. And whatever her life choices have been would be her business and nobody else’s. I should also remind you that it may run in my family to select partners that are not the obvious choice. Hobbits do not have Ones, nor do we have arranged marriages, but we do fall in love. I for my part find it admirable to think that Berylla chose to spend her days giving comfort to an old, failing dwarf with mental issues-“

“My father was a King!” Thorin bellowed, shaking with rage. “A dwarf from the line of Durin, with an army and wealth unheard of as his birthright.”

The Hobbit balled his fists and spoke with forced calm. “You should know better than anyone how little Hobbits care for titles, armies and _wealth_.”

They stared at each other for a long while, then Thorin whirled away from the Hobbit and stormed from the room without another word. Bilbo deflated, hanging his head with a sigh.

In the brief silence that followed they heard Dwalin’s urgent voice: “Lass, wait!”

 _What now?_ Balin pushed himself to his feet.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice one, Thorin! 
> 
> Naddith – brother that is young  
> Író Zirizarrab – Író Golden Writings  
> Makhdûna – Blend of all Blends, Ruby’s epithet


	11. Slap One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin gets to know his Ruby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you to everyone reading and commenting. You guys are the best xx

(Dwalin)

Dwalin continued pacing while Dori and Bilbo prepared a tray for his lassie. He slowed his pacing for a moment to gather his thoughts.

 _His_ lassie.

His _Ruby_.

He shook his head. It was hard to believe. In fact, it still felt like a dream too good to be true, if not for the odd thrumming in the back of his head that told Dwalin exactly that his One was a mere three rooms away, that she was exhausted, tired, hungry and confused. He could almost _feel_ her physical state and her emotions as if they were his own. It was too bizarre.

Yes, Balin was right. It was not the first time a dwarf was found by his One under the most unusual circumstances, certainly not according to Író Zirizarrab. Dwalin definitely felt the ‘supremely deep and powerful connection, fueled by divine energy of the highest level’. There was no denying it. He rubbed his hand over his chest again. Their Maker sure didn’t muck about to get his point across.

He looked at his Nadad’s twinkling eyes and felt assured by his smile. Yes, it was comforting to think that Mahal had his hand in this, somehow. Because how else could he, Dwalin, get a grip on the idea that his One was the daughter of a Hobbit and a Dwarf, for one, and secondly, the child of Bilbo’s aunt and Thorin’s father, the former King.

Dwalin shook his head once more. It was a tough fact to grasp. A fact that raised more questions than it answered. Yet he could _feel_ that she told the truth. She believed that truth anyway, and who could raise a lassie like that with such a lie? If it was a lie. Because those blue eyes of hers that bore into him looked an awful lot like Thorin’s eyes. And her messy, thick hair was the same raven black. Even though it was far curlier than any dam’s had any right to be. Dwalin itched to run his fingers through it, combing it out and tending to it until it shone like silk.

He felt Balin’s eyes on him. His Nadad, always the voice of reason. Aye, in his heart of hearts Dwalin knew that a chaperone was the right thing. They had not exchanged any meaningful conversation and passion had them gripped so hard that he barely managed to restrain himself. So yes, a chaperone was a good and proper idea. He had no intention of facing Dís, or Thráin, and having to explain how his restraint had snapped. And still his thoughts ran off to make plans as to how to get her on her own to steal another kiss like that.

Mahal, how she kissed him! He had barely gotten a glimpse of her blue eyes and black curls before she had hauled herself into his arms. ‘ _You have caught my eye_ ’ she had said, and ‘ _Will you be mine_ ’. Mahal wept, he never was one for the romantic stories, but this sure had the makings of a good one. Not only was she the one Mahal had crafted for him but the Maker also awoken that irresistible tug in her to identify him as her Blessed One, following in Luda and Lothin’s footsteps with the words the famous dam had uttered at recognizing her dwarf.

Ruby Makhdûna.

Dwalin felt himself grin. With a Khazad epithet like that he would have his blood boiling even without her having claimed him. Looking up he met his brother’s eyes. Balin looked at him sternly over the rim of his mug, obviously very much guessing at the nature of his thoughts.

“We’re ready,” Bilbo spoke at that moment, carrying a tray and making his way to the guest bedroom Dori occupied during his stay and where he had taken Ruby after she fainted outside of Bag End.

Dwalin immediately followed out into the hallway. Dori slowed his steps. “I should mention that the lassie also has a chain around her neck,” he said lowly, “Not sure what it is, she made sure to turn her back and she didn’t seem to want to take it off. Obviously, I didn’t pry. But it’s not the kind of chain one would wear around a neck, not jewelry like. And it looks like she’s been wearing it a long while, it’s all but chafed her skin into hardened marks. Maybe she’ll tell you what it is or allows us to help her with some ointment.”

Dwalin frowned and nodded his understanding. He could do no more as they reached the room. Bilbo had already knocked and entered. The tray was placed on the bedside table. “I’ll leave you to it,” the Hobbit said with a warm smile at the lass. “Please know that you are safe in Bag End, and very welcome. No harm will come to you here, you have my word. You just eat and rest, and we’ll see what tomorrow will bring.”

The lass nodded, sitting on the bed wearing what must have been a spare tunic from Dori and a morning gown from Bilbo. Same patchwork style the Hobbit wore himself with garments like that, but a female version in all shades of purple and with lacy frills at the neckline and hem.

Bilbo gave her a little pat on the arm and left, a soft smile playing around his mouth.

Dori stepped into the room and Dwalin followed after him, purposely leaving the door open. Ruby’s eyes dashed over Dori but then settled on Dwalin. They widened and he could feel her blue eyes sinking into his very soul. A blush crept up her cheeks and her rosy lips opened. Dwalin couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had undone her two messy braids and her black hair hung thick and curly - and no less messy - over her shoulders and down her back, a stark contrast to the purple hues of the morning gown.

When Dori pointedly cleared his throat Dwalin belatedly remembered to breathe. “I have not introduced myself,” he said roughly, his voice not quite compliant, “Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service.” He bowed, keeping eye contact.

She gave him a hesitant smile. He could feel her unsureness about the situation. And her gnawing hunger. He smiled encouragingly. “You should eat,” he said, motioning at the tray. “Bilbo is a very good cook, even for a Hobbit. You’ll not be sorry to have his food.”

Ruby blinked. She was _puzzled,_ as if trying to remember something. “Bilbo,” she said slowly, rolling the name over her tongue. Two little creases appeared between her perfectly arched black eyebrows. “Bilbo _Baggins_?” she asked, her voice unsure.

Dwalin nodded, taking a step closer to the bed. “Yes, Bilbo Baggins. You’ve heard his name before?” He asked even though he _knew_ she did.

She gave a slow, thoughtful nod, and Dwalin could feel her trepidation. “It’s no matter just now, Amhâhul,” he said softly, trying to soothe her, barely registering how easy the endearment slipped out. “You can tell us everything in a little while. For now you’re safe. Bag End is a good place. And I’ll not let any harm come to you.” Dwalin pulled the chair from in front of the dresser next to the bed and sat down. “I know you’re exhausted, lassie, and I can tell you’ve no injuries, but Dori here says that you-“

“Dori?”

Dwalin could tell she was shocked at hearing the name, naked fear suddenly gripped her heart, clutching at Dwalin’s in turn.

“ _Dori_?” She repeated, looking at the prim dwarf, her eyes wide.

The tailor smiled at her. “Aye, Dori, at your service. I did introduce myself before, but I could tell that you were a bit dis-“ The word got caught in his throat when she lounged herself off the bed and stood before Dori, placing a hand on his cheek, looking up into his eyes.

Dwalin felt himself frown at the intimate gesture.

“Dori,” she said slowly. “Brother of Nori.” And then she whirled around and rummaged through her clothes.

Dori’s eyes had widened in shock at her words and Dwalin got to his feet. “You’ve met Nori? Where, lass, when?”

“My boots,” she said, ignoring his questions, upending the meagre pile of her belongings in a panic. “Where are my boots?”

Dwalin wordlessly pointed at them, placed neatly near the door.

She rushed past him and he inhaled a waft of butter and sugar. As soon as the realization hit him she slowed her movements and gazed up at him with a blush. Dwalin felt a little dizzy. His extreme fondness for baked sweets sure made sense now. And the blush on her cheeks might as well be on his own, certainly with the heat he felt on his face. _Mahal, she can sense all of me just as I can sense all of her_. But then she turned to her boots once more and pulled out the socks that were neatly stuffed inside. Carefully she reached into one and retracted something small. She held her hand out for Dori who held his palm open for her. She dropped a golden bead into it.

“This is Nori’s,” Dori said in a far-off voice, staring at the bead in his hand.

“He gave it to me,” she said hurriedly, already slipping into her socks. “He got me out. Him and Kirvi. He told me to get here, Nori did. He told me to give the bead to the tall dwarf with the long black hair.” She stood still for a moment, her eyes shyly darting to Dwalin. “But I got ... uhm ... distracted.” She shrugged out of the purple dressing gown and reached for the hem of the tunic. Dwalin clamped his eyes shut, as must Dori have, judging by the shocked squawk that escaped the fussy dwarf. “I have to go,” Dwalin heard her mutter, “I cannot _believe_ I listened to him. Lulkh binjabl. I should have waited for them. We should have gone together.” A heartbeat later boots scuffed on the floorboards.

A bellow could be heard from the front of the smial.

“Ruby-” Dwalin began as his brain registered Thorin yelling.

“ _Dwalin_ ,” she said, and he shivered and felt her heart _flutter_ at his reaction. “I have to go. But I will be back. Once I have Nori and Kirvi.”

Footsteps left the room. Dwalin opened his eyes and just saw the tail end of her coat at the end of the hallway. Mahal’s hairy balls, she was as quick on her feet as any Hobbit. Dwalin stormed after her. “Lass,” he bellowed, “Wait!”

Balin emerged from the sitting room, a deep frown on his face. “What’s going on?”

“She’s got Nori’s bead,” Dwalin explained quickly, “She says he ‘got her out’. She wants to get to him.”

*

By the time Dwalin made it out the smial she was already halfway down Bagshot Row and he had to sprint to catch up to her. He managed to grab her hand before she was about to vault over a hedge and pulled her to a stop. “Hold now, Amhâhul,” Dwalin said, as calmly as he could, feeling her turmoil. He lifted her hand and kissed it.

“I have to go,” she said, and he could tell she wanted to tug her small, calloused hand out of his but couldn’t bring herself to it as the feeling of his lips against her skin made her melt inside.

“Amhâhul,” he said again, ignoring the shiver that went down her spine, and his, “I understand you need to get to Nori. As do I. We have been waiting for word from him. I will not ask you to stay behind when we go wherever it is you tell us we can find him. What I do ask you though is to trust me. We cannot run out the door without armour, weapons, supplies. Besides, it is nightfall. We will leave at first light, and because we’ll have ponies we will make up for the lost time quickly.” He reached out to tug a lock of messy hair behind her ear. “Please, Ruby, trust me. I know what I’m doing. I am very good at this.”

Her eyes darted over his face, as if searching for the truth in his features when he knew very well she could _feel_ his sincerity. Then her blue eyes turned into pools of water as they filled with tears. She sniffed and nodded, her shoulders sagging with worry and exhaustion, the emotions welling up in her like a flood.

“Come now,” he turned around, looping her hand through his arm and made to walk back to Bag End, exchanging a brief look with Balin and Dori, who both had come running after them. There was no sign of Thorin or Bilbo, and briefly Dwalin wondered why there were not there, too.

The sun stood low and the late light of the day bathed everything in a golden glow. Few Hobbits were about at this time of day, most busy with dinner before those so inclined would head to the Green Dragon for a pint or two and some more socializing.

“Causing more stir are you?” a voice sneered. Ruby tensed at his arm but then she squared her shoulders and turned to face the speaker. The Hobbit stood in a group of bounders, who slowly followed in his wake around the hedge where they had obviously been behind. All in their usual outfits with the swords Dwalin and Thorin himself had forged over the years hanging from their hips. The one leading them had a feather pinned to his hat. A Shirriff. Judging by the way he held himself slightly stiffly Dwalin guessed he was the one Bilbo had mentioned. For a split second he felt a sense of commiseration, but then the lad opened his mouth again: “Seems the new fashion,” he said, disdain in his slightly scratchy voice. “For lasses to mingle willy nilly.”

“Watch your mouth!” Dwalin instructed him sternly, pointing a finger from his free hand at him, while holding Ruby’s hand gently but firmly in his other, trying to keep her behind him.

But she pushed past before he could stop her, slipping out of his grip and straightening herself before the Shirriff, both hands on her hips. _Mahal_. “What happened to Hobbits not poking their noses into other people’s business?” she challenged, “You clearly haven’t learned your lesson,” she added, throwing a meaningful look at his middle section.

The lad paled.

Dwalin fought not to laugh. He could sense Ruby’s indignation and her determination to give this idiot a second thrashing if needed as if it were his own.

But the Shirriff tapped against his hat with his forefinger and rose himself proudly to his full height. “I have a right to do what I did,” he yelled, slightly off-key, “It is my business to poke my nose into other people’s business, especially when they are strangers.”

“I told you the truth,” she yelled back, not intimidated in the slightest. “And you held me at sword point. There was no need for that. I was unarmed.” Dwalin made sure to keep a straight face as he immediately knew right away that she lied about that, and did that funny things to his insides that she should have a weapon concealed on her.

“Maybe we should have searched you to be sure,” the Shirriff said darkly and took a step forward.

Dwalin didn’t much like the tone, nor the idea of anybody putting their hands on his lass, and was about to say “Hey now!” but the flat of Ruby’s palm delivered a resounding slap across the lad’s cheek, making him stumble back, nearly losing his balance.

Dwalin blinked at the obvious power in the lassie’s hand.

The Shirriff turned beet red and held his rapidly swelling cheek. “I was right: You’re definitely not a Hobbit,” he spat, “You‘re a feral beast. No true Hobbit would behave like you do.”

“You’re right,” she sneered back at him, not missing a beat, “I am no true Hobbit. I am a Dwobbit. Ruby Makhdûna my Adad named me. Blend of all blends. The perfect mix of two races. Which means I am more than just a Hobbit, for I know two worlds.”

And she whirled around and stormed back up the hill, leaving speechless bounders and dwarves behind.

When Dwalin shook himself out of his surprise and hurried to follow her, Balin and Dori in tow, he caught up with her at the gate to Bag End, where she stood, like frozen, her face buried in her hands and breathing in deep gulps. Dwalin could feel her fighting hard to keep from bursting into tears. As proudly as she had announced the name given to her by her Adad, Dwalin could sense there was a lot of torment attached to her statement of being of two worlds.

“Lassie,” he said, put his hands on her slim shoulders and gently turned her around to face him. When her eyes found his he pulled her to his chest and simply held her, rubbing his palms over her back soothingly. His heart filled with fondness for her, and with a nearly overwhelming _need_ of taking care of her. “It’s alright, Khajmel. I’ve got you. I’m here.” It took a long while, but when her breaths finally became calm and steady and he could feel her sensing the stone under their feet in an effort to ground herself and Mahal _how strong was her sense_ if she could feel stone in the soil of the Shire, when _Dwalin_ barely had an inkling of it at the very depth of the earth. He carefully leaned back and put a finger under her chin to lift her face. Her blue eyes were bright and watery with unshed tears and it felt as if he looked straight into her soul. “Ruby,” he said softly, “Tell me about Nori.”

She screwed up her face in a painful expression, took a deep breath and then the words just burst from her, like the River Running burst from stone in the Lonely Mountain. She just let it all out, in barely coherent sentences, no full stops or pauses. Dwalin just held her by her shoulders and let her ramble, not once taking his eyes off her. In the end he got the gist of a compound, someone named Tanner, Urso, who got ripped apart by dogs, one Iffan, a beating, dogs, the forge, swords and axes, dogs, ten long years, one Meric who thought she was a thief, dogs, a garden, food, someone hunting, family, braids, dogs, _Adad_ telling her to be brave, a hiding spot behind a barrel, Tobyas, Nori and Kirvi, poison, dogs, Nori, ten years, a map, the Shire, Bilbo Baggins, _dogs_ , a big bang, smoke, Nori, running, wolves, running, the bounders and more running.

He had to blink a few times to sort the jumbled swell of words and simply pulled her into his chest again once she stopped talking, breathing raggedly. Feeling very overwhelmed himself by the whirlwind of emotion that came from her he exchanged a look with Balin, who was solemn, and Dori, who was grim, before he moved her again to have her look into his face. Her not quite button nose was red and she had dirty streaks on her face. Her hair was a crow’s nest and her whole body shook with exhaustion. Still, she was beautiful. Smiling softly at her he bent his head to kiss her warm lips. “You are so very brave, my Ruby,” he said and his heart melted when she timidly smiled the thinnest of smiles back at him, followed by a blush at the realization of his emotions regarding her. “I will go to get everything ready so we can leave at first light. And you will go with Dori, who will help you to have a bath and eat some food. And then you will try to sleep. Is no use, Amhâhul, to have you fall off the pony on the morrow. Yes? Will you do that for me?”

She looked at him intently and Dwalin willed himself to exude his earnest intentions and true concern for her with every fiber of his being. She nodded, eventually, letting herself be turned towards Dori who opened his arms to welcome her in an embrace. She was almost through the gate when she a memory spiked in Dwalin’s awareness, and she whirled around again, digging her hands in her coat and thrusting a piece of leather at Dwalin before Dori put an arm around her shoulder and lead her into Bag End.

Dwalin slowly unfolded the piece of leather, recognizing a map. He gazed at it momentarily, identifying the runes as Nori’s, turned it and held it for Balin to look at. “Quite a lot she’s been through, by the sounds of it,” his brother commented, squinting at the map. “And this is a good three or four days by foot. It’s no mean feat to get here unharmed, especially if she cut across rough terrain to remain undetected.”

Nodding grimly Dwalin carded a hand through his beard. “I’ll go give the orders to move out at sunrise. Where’s Thorin?”

Balin sighed and made a vague hand motion. “He’s ... busy right now.”

Dwalin frowned.

Balin sighed again. “He said some not so nice things, before, and I think Bilbo is terribly upset just now. Since neither of them followed us I hope they take the time to ... calm down again.”

 _Thorin, you stubborn oaf._ “She’s telling the truth, he’s got to get used to the idea of having a half-sister,” was all he said.

“Easier said than done,” Balin smiled ruefully. “It is quite a shock for him.”

Dwalin hummed. “It is quite a shock for all of us. If his mood has not improved by morning, I’ll haul his sorry ass along for a quick spar before we move out.”

Balin nodded and shrugged uncertainly at the same time. “For once I’m not too sure he’ll happy to face you. And I’m not sure whether he’ll want to come along or not.” He cocked a meaningful eyebrow at his brother and Dwalin couldn’t hold back an exasperated grunt. Trust Thorin to make an already complicated situation more difficult. He leaned in to touch his forehead to his Nadad’s, who sighed. ”You truly mean to take her? She’d be better off staying here and rest.”

Dwalin stood back straight and eyed him for a moment before shrugging with a wry grin. “I promised. Besides, I don’t think she’s the type to be left behind, no matter what I say. And I’m not the type to lock her up to prevent her from going. No, I’d rather take her along, keep her close and do my best to keep her out of trouble, and trouble away from her.”

“I see your point,” Balin conceded with a sigh, looking into the direction the bounders and their infernal Shirriff had disappeared to, “And as Dori will want to come as well, she will be better off staying with you two than here with boring old me.” His eyes twinkled.

Dwalin chuckled lowly. “There will be plenty of time getting to know her, Nadad. I’ll not mean to let her out of my sight any time soon.” He slapped his brother’s shoulder and Balin nodded, his clever old eyes looking up at him fondly. “Of that I have no doubt,” Balin said, smiling. “Who would have thought? You and your One. And what a way of meeting? Blessed indeed. I am very happy for you, Naddith, very happy indeed.”

“You don’t question it? Don’t doubt it?”

Balin waved a dismissive hand. “I know you. And all of it, Nori’s discovery, Bilbo’s aunt, Író’s stories ... there’s a reason why it all happened and why we’ve found out about it now. Miss Ruby Makhdûna makes perfect sense, as far as I’m concerned. And there’s no dwarf I’d have wished to be found by his One more than you, Naddith. You deserve to be complete.”

Aye, that he was, Dwalin realized the truth of it as soon as his brother said the words: he felt complete, for the first time ever. The part of him that had been missing and he had never truly been certain he was lacking was now filled with Ruby’s presence. He could feel her, inside his heart and soul, where she had settled like molten gold to seal the cracks of a broken vessel. He felt himself grin, knowing full well that it was a sappy grin, and Balin chuckled. His brother slapped him on the shoulder and made his way up the path to Bag End.

Dwalin went to the Green Dragon. It didn’t take long to fill the warriors in with the necessary information and give his orders to be packed, provisioned and ready to head out at sunrise. He was glad that there were no bounders and no Shirriff with a distinct handprint on his cheek in the Inn, but the guestroom was buzzing with chitter chatter regardless. Hobbits loved their gossip, and this gossip about a long-lost daughter of the old Took was especially juicy.

“You believe her?” Gimli asked quietly when they sat alone at a table in the corner, scrutinizing him over the rim of his ale as he pushed a second mug across the table.

“Aye, I do. I do believe she’s the daughter of Berylla Took and Thráin, son of Thrór, as crazy as it sounds.” Dwalin took a long drink.

Gimli shrugged. “She does look a lot like Thorin,” he said plainly and his tone suggested that he had no doubts it was the truth.

“That she does,” he thought for a moment, digging through his memories, “And Dís, when she was young.” Dwalin felt a flutter of delight coming from Ruby’s presence in his soul and absentmindedly rubbed a hand over his chest, where his heart was. Without knowing why or how he _knew_ the lass was having her bath just now. He could almost taste Bilbo’s honey soap on his tongue.

“It’s not easy, to be the child of parents that have a bond such a this,” Gimli said, watching him closely, “I mean, they say parents know if their kids fib anyway but I never stood a chance with my parents being connected the way they are. They know what the other is thinking, even when miles apart.” He traced a finger over the watery rim left by his mug on the table. “We’ve had so many meals where they were in a world of their own, where the conversation they had through their bond left me completely in the dark. Where they forgot to say words out loud for my benefit. My Amad always says she knows my Adad better than she knows herself. If you can feel your One’s emotions already now, after you literally just met her, your bond will be incredibly strong indeed, stronger maybe even than that of my parents.”

Dwalin found himself nodding. “Aye, it may well be true. Will take a little to get used to though.” _Won’t be a hardship though_. He smiled into his beard at sensing Ruby’s delight of getting clean.

“Word of advice,” Gimli offered, “Don’t shield your thoughts from her, ever. If my Adad does it it’s the one thing that gets my Amad angrier than a whole barrack of warriors living on vegetable stew.” He grinned sheepishly.

Dwalin snorted. The fights between Fárni and Glóin were as much legend as their bond. “Thanks for the advice, shaktith.” He lifted his mug in mock salute. “I’ll make sure to remember it.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Dwalin’s just the best. No matter what, I always end up writing him as a big softie. 
> 
> Író Zirizarrab - Író – Hungarian for ‘writer’ / Zirizarrab - Golden Writings  
> Nadad – brother that is old  
> Ruby Makhdûna – Blend of all Blends  
> amhâhul - amazing gem  
> lulkh binjabl – brainless fool  
> khajmel – gift of all gifts  
> shaktith – kin that is young/new/fresh


	12. Slap Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin is reminded of the family traits

(Dwalin)

The night was mild and the sky clear when Dwalin left the Green Dragon. Night-insects sang their song and a distant owl hooted at the waxing moon. Dwalin slowly made his way back to Bag End, alert about his surroundings, but also listening to this sense inside him, that told him that his Ruby was eating. He smiled, picturing her with crumbs stuck to the corner of her mouth and her lips tasting of Bilbo’s raspberry jam. Mahal, the time would come where he could feed her with morsels from his hand and taste them all before she had a chance to swallow them. He shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts well off _that_ path just now, knowing that she picked up on them vaguely through their bond just as he did with hers.

It was quiet when he entered Bag End but of the lull of voices coming from Bilbo’s study. He knocked on the door briefly before peeking inside just when Balin said: “Thorin, by the sounds of it she was held captive. By Men most like. She kept mentioning dogs a lot, clearly they have her most fearful. She named one Urso who got ripped apart by the beasts. She also mentioned she got beaten. It seems Nori and Kirvi discovered her there and broke her out. She mentioned poison, a hiding spot behind a barrel, a big bang and hole in the wall, which all sounds much like Nori indeed. Nori might have used some explosives to spring her prison. And then she ran. All the way from somewhere south of Bree, cutting through the wilds, staying off the road. She slept in a tree when she heard wolves one night. No matter what happened in the years before that, Thorin, she has been through enough these past days to explain - and excuse - her current distressed state.” Balin shook his white-haired head. “Leave her be. Let her rest. There is no point interrogating her tonight. No good will come of it.”

They both looked up when Dwalin entered the room and closed the door behind him, leaning against the frame, his arms folded before his chest. “There’ll be no _interrogation_ ,” he said firmly and looked at Thorin pointedly, “But I am sure she won’t mind being asked questions.”

Thorin snorted. “You under her thumb already? May I remind you that you are sworn to me?”

Dwalin was unmoved. “May I remind you that she is the other half of my soul, by our Maker’s will, in a Blessed Bond no less, and that she has identified me as her One. Don’t put me into a position where I am forced to take a side. You will be civil to her, as I will ask her to be civil to you.”

“Civil like she was to that bounder?” Thorin let out humourless laugh, “If we’re not careful she’s going to cause a political incident, now that she publicly declared herself a _Dwobbit_.”

 _So he was there_. Dwalin shrugged, not really surprised. “Like you give a toss about a political incident with the Shire. And he deserved it, pompous little shit. Dís would have done the-“

“I will thank you to not compare that ... that sharagâl with my sister,” Thorin spat, hands clenched into fists.

Dwalin shook his head sadly at his King, not even trying to hide his displeasure at those words, but he did his best to dampen down the irritability he felt at hearing them, mindful of Ruby in the back of his conscience. “I know it is almost impossible to wrap your head around it. But I also know that she tells the truth. I can _feel_ it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thorin retorts darkly, “Fárni and Glóin are the only ones we know with a Blessed Bond, and while they certainly feel the other’s thoughts and feelings it took years to establish the connection to the level it is at now. Yet you’ve exchanged but a handful of sentences with the _Dwobbit_. I’m thinking you’re not using your _brain_ to do the thinking here, Dwalin, maybe you are influenced by another body part in that regard?”

 _Ooh, low blow_. Dwalin lifted his chin and glared at his best friend and King. “I am neither a dwarfling nor a misguided romantic. I know what I felt the moment I lay eyes on her. I know what I feel now. Our bond may be unusually strong considering we have just met, but that is neither my fault nor hers. I for one will gladly accept Mahal’s gift. And I’ll not dishonour my name and my house by rejecting her just to please you. Best get used to the idea that I will have your half-sister for wife.”

Thorin stared at him as if he had lost his head. Then he buried his face in his hands with an almost manic laugh. “You have all gone mad,” he muttered lowly, “I am beginning to think that the ways of Hobbits don’t have the right influence for us.”

Balin frowned. “Thorin-“

The King straightened and faced Dwalin, his majestic mask in place. “You will investigate what has happened to Nori. Once you return we leave for Ered Luin.” He opened the door and walked into the hallway.

Exchanging a dark look the sons of Fundin followed him. “Thorin,” Balin tried again, “You only just arrived a couple of weeks ago. What about Bilbo? He’ll not want to have to pack up so-“

“The Royal Consort can either come along or remain here, if that is his wish,” Thorin said harshly, “At this moment I do not care. Maybe he actually prefers to stay here, to help his _cousin_ to acclimatize since he so readily accepts her. I want you to pack up and be ready to leave as soon as Dwalin is back.”

Balin shook his head, displeasure and disappointment at his King’s words obvious on his face. “Thorin, please, do not give such orders now, when emotions run high. Wait until morning. Or even better, wait until Nori is back and has given his report. Please. Words said now in anger cannot be made unsaid.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Bilbo’s voice came from the side. Dwalin squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. Of course Bilbo heard. _Mahal’s curse on silent Hobbit feet._ “His Majesty is right, maybe it is best if we go our separate ways for a while.”

Dwalin looked between Thorin and his Royal Consort. The pain in Bilbo’s voice was almost unbearable. “And yes, if the King chooses to travel on to Ered Luin I will remain here, with Ruby. If indeed she has been a prisoner for the last ten years she deserves to remain in a calm environment until she finds her feet-“

“Do you even hear yourself?” Thorin bellowed and Dwalin felt Ruby in her room pick up on his tension - and on the loud voice. He lifted a cautioning hand. “Thorin-“ But the King shook him off. “Ten years is a long time. Are you telling me she could not have escaped at some stage? Do you really believe she didn’t gain _something_ from staying there? She probably went with those men voluntarily. Like mother, like daughter. She knows more than two worlds, maybe.”

Dwalin was about to retort harshly at that outrageous insinuation but froze when he felt her presence before he could see her storming around the corner, followed by an exasperated looking Dori a heartbeat later. The lass was in front of Thorin before anyone could blink and Dwalin heard the second resounding slap of the day. She wore Dori’s tunic once more, and the purple dressing gown. Her face was framed by damp, unbound hair and flushed with fury. Thorin didn’t even flinch but his eyes narrowed dangerously and Dwalin’s body coiled, ready to - somehow - interfere.

“How dare you!?” Her blue eyes blazed. “How dare you say such things about my mother? How dare you judge me? You know nothing about me.” Tears of hurt spilled from her eyes and she wiped them away in an angry motion. She jabbed a finger in Thorin’s chest and her voice turned to ice. “My Adad was right: the walls of Khazad halls are coated with arrogance, and the floors are covered with pride. Amidst all their shiny treasures, Dwarrow too often forget the simple basics of morality. Tada ma sasakhi ya ‘azâgzu ma mahsa’dadi ya gal’zu.” She whirled around and ran off.

Thorin stood frozen, for a moment his face looked thunderous before his features screwed up in a painful grimace. He closed his eyes, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side, and he was shaking, whether from rage or from despair or the fact that Ruby’s Khuzdul was flawless, Dwalin couldn’t say. Then, without a word, the King turned and stormed from the room.

Dwalin scrubbed his hands over his face.

 _Mahal_.

Dori looked thoroughly shocked and Balin took the arm of a faint looking Bilbo, resolutely steering him to his armchair. “I’m alright,” the Hobbit said shakily. He looked up at Dwalin. “You should go after her,” Bilbo told him, “Yavanna knows where she’s run off to. And those two better not cross paths now.”

Dwalin lay a commiserating hand on the Consort’s shoulder; he knew his One was still close by, but Bilbo was certainly right about the latter. “She’s just outside,” he said, and after a moment’s hesitation “I am sorry.” He would never want discord between Bilbo and Thorin.

Bilbo waved him off. “I know, I know, and it’s not your fault. Nor hers. Go, go to her.” The Hobbit ushered him along with a light shove.

Exchanging a look with his brother to see whether Balin would be agreeable for him going to Ruby without a chaperone trailing after him Dwalin was relieved when the whitehaired dwarf waved his hand in a dismissive way, indicating he would not insist on it just now.

Dwalin directed his feet outside and followed his gut instinct; indeed he found the lass in the soft grass underneath Bilbo’s kitchen window. Light from the inside shone on her in a soft glow. Her naked feet were tucked under her and she had wrapped her arms around herself.

Her face was sad and confused and she looked heartbreakingly forlorn.

“Khajmel,” he sighed and sat down behind to her, carefully pulling her between his legs and into his embrace. She stiffened briefly, but then softened and let him cradle her against his broad chest, wrapping his arms around her. She trembled, her pent-up emotions swirling inside her like thick, dark clouds before the storms hit; hurt and doubt, grief and indignation. “Is alright now, Ruby,” he said calmly and buried his face into her hair. She smelled of honey soap and flowers, and the damp from her curls soaked into his tunic.

“Nothing is alright,” she sniffed, “Why is he saying such things? I have _done_ nothing to him. Why is he saying such things about my mother? He’s never even _met_ her.”

Dwalin sighed deeply. “A lot has happened today. Things nobody expected. It’s made everybody very emotional. It will all be better once tempers have calmed.”

“I am not wanted here,” she choked out, her hands clenching into the frills of her morning gown. “Just like I was not wanted _there_. Nori was wrong. I should not have come.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Dwalin said, wrinkling his brow at the thought. Already he could not imagine a life where her presence would not fill his very being. He turned her a bit and put a broad finger under her chin, lifting her face to look at him. “I am _very glad_ you have come. And I _do_ want you here.”

A hopeful shine lit up her face but her eyes filled with tears. “Truly?”

He kissed her not quite button nose. “Truly.”

“But I ... I ... ambushed you. Just like Luda.” Her voice sounded small, embarrassed and very self-conscious. Aye, Dwalin could understand that it was as confusing to her as it was to him to have completely lost control over their own faculties for a moment, no matter if it was designed to be that way by their Maker or not.

He chuckled and wiped the tears away when they spilled down her smooth cheeks. “Aye, you did that.” His eyes roamed her face, over her high forehead and the features that had more noble lines than typical Hobbits could call their own. She did look like a Hobbit - and like a Dwarrowdam. Like a Durin. There was no doubt about it. It was both unnerving and oddly comforting. “You obviously know the story about Luda and Lothin. Do you also know about Blessed Bonds?” Thráin likely would have told her the old tales of True Ones, but he would not have known about Blessed Ones, just like they all hadn’t.

To his surprise Ruby nodded and licked her lips.

Dwalin stared at the pink tip that flashed out from her perfect red mouth, all thoughts and focus leaving him. Heat spread through his belly.

Ruby’s eyes grew wide before fluttering shut and then she _moaned_. Dwalin felt her embarrassment at her involuntary reaction as if it were his own. The lass nodded again, her damp curls bouncing with the movement. “I do know. And you ... and I ...”

“Aye,” he said hoarsely, putting aside his surprise that she _knew_. “Even for Blessed Ones you and I seem to have an exceptionally strong bond. Considering we’ve just met ...” He took a deep breath and tried to steady his heart that just now decided to start beating in a gallop. “All I saw was a flash of black curls and blue eyes and then it felt as if Mahal himself squeezed my heart, almost as if he wanted to make sure I got the message. Couldn’t fault him. We are known to be a bit thick sculled sometimes, after all.”

She laughed a little at that, a wonderful, sweet little sound that made his insides soar.

“The moment I saw you my feet just carried me to you,” she confessed, almost in awe and as if she could not quite believe what had happened herself. “And when you put your arms around me it felt like home.”

“You smelled my beard. And then you kissed me,” he said and looked at her lips once more.

“You kissed me back,” she replied, almost challenging.

“Aye,” he said roughly, looking at her lips again, “And I’d love to do it again.” But he did not. Instead he squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled loudly, cursing in a mutter. One of Nori’s curses, without thinking.

And promptly she laughed again even though she blushed and _Mahal_ he really had to remember she spoke Khuzdul - as he’d heard - without the slightest hint of an accent (unlike Bilbo) and very much with the drivel of the high class of Erebor (unlike the Urs and Ris and very much like all the Durins) but when she spoke her tone was unsure. “Why not?”

And didn’t that make his breath hitch.

And hers after it dawned on her what she had said.

“Because it’s all happening very fast, Amhâhul,” he responded as firmly as he could muster, rhythmically stroking her back. “Not that I mind, not at all, but we have no control. And that’s not how it should be. You deserve better. You deserve my attention and my care and my devotion; and that’s what I want to give you.”

Moving her hands over the tunic at his chest her fingers brushed against his beard as she distractedly smoothed out some crinkles in the fabric. Try all he might Dwalin could not prevent a shudder to travel through his body at the sensation. Her scent filled his nose, the warmth of her small but strangely un-hobbity sturdy body in his arms filled his blood, the distinct _knowledge_ of her picturing him without that tunic she was fiddling with and her curious musings whether he had tattoos _elsewhere_ on his body filled his mind. He groaned and was likewise not able to control his thoughts giving him an image of her black curls spilling over an expanse of naked, smooth skin. When her hands trailed up his shoulders and down his arms Dwalin sensed her picturing him working in a forge, sweaty from the fire and sooty from smoke and smelling of molten heat and liquid metal-

“This is your scent for me?” he asked, his voice barely above a growly whisper in sudden realization. “Metal and forge fire?”

Nodding emphatically with closed eyes Ruby carefully squeezed the bulging muscles on his arms. Dwalin’s eyes followed the movement of her throat when she swallowed heavily. “Steel and forge fire. The metal tang of weapons. Always, for a long as I can remember it has been that way, even before I knew what a forge looks like. And baked stone and crisp winter mornings. And fur and the salty rubs my Mama used on her cured meats.” Her long black lashes blinked open and the piercing blue of her eyes pinned him down on the spot. His pants grew tight and he groaned again, shifting her weight off him a little to ease the pressure. As her gaze shifted to his mouth the scent of butter and sugar seemed to explode between them.

Ruby’s eyebrows rose in understanding and her eyes flicked back up to look at him. A slight smile tugged at her mouth. “Baking?”

It was Dwalin’s turn to nod emphatically. “Always. Melting butter and sugar, yeasty dough and baking spices. I’ve always had a sweet tooth, particularly for sweet bakery. Even as a dwarfling I could be found either at the training grounds or in the kitchens. Master Pulla was in charge of the bakery. He’d brought me home to my Amad more times than I can count after I snuck away from my minders to beg for a sweet treat.”

She smiled widely then, a surge of tenderness welled up in her, and before Dwalin could say or do anything else Ruby had leaned in and pressed her lips to his. And even though his brain told him _not_ to Dwalin’s mouth had an entirely different idea, reacting to her with immediate passion. He kissed her back, massaging her lips open until he could wrap his tongue around hers in a heated tangle. His hand reached for the back of her head, digging into her thick hair, to hold her or keep her away, he wasn’t sure. When Ruby’s fingers grabbed his beard to pull herself even closer and she began _grinding_ against him, Dwalin could again feel her mortification at how wantonly and not like herself she was behaving. If he was not careful he’d take her right there in the grass under Bilbo’s kitchen window, he knew, no matter how much that was not like himself either. But he was a warrior, he didn’t get carried away, he knew discipline and caution, and despite his appearance he’d long learned that brawns could not be allowed to rule over brains.

Briefly he wondered what Thráin had had in mind for his daughter’s future. Whether he had thought about it at all. Whether he would be happy to have Dwalin, son of Fundin, as his Nâtha’s One. But their Maker had crafted them such, had designed them to be mates through all stages of Iluvatar’s music, and he, Dwalin, had waited long enough to be found. He’d be a fool to question it, and an even bigger fool to muck it up by not watching out for the both of them. His life had been providing him with precious little good just for himself, and if a love that sounded like it had come straight from a storybook was to be his, he would grasp it with both hands and never let it go.

With a mighty steeling of his will and determination Dwalin wrapped his hands around her arms and pushed her away from him, gently but firmly. “We have to stop, Amhâhul,” he managed to mutter and fought against the urge to find her lips once more when her face crunched up in displeasure. Framing her face with his large hands he pressed their foreheads together. “Our bond is strong, Ruby, hearts and souls interwoven. There can be no doubt of it. And as we’re already joined in mind and in heart ... more than I ever expected ... than I ever thought possible ... my lass ... our bodies can wait. Will have to wait. Because it is the right thing to do _.” And because Dís and Thráin will cleave my head if I don’t_. “And we’re fragile, with all that is going on. It is not the right place, my Ruby, not the right time. Here, like this. It’s not how it’s supposed to be. You understand that, don’t you?”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt his breath on her face. She shuddered and moved to bury her face into his chest. “I do understand it,” she whispered into his tunic and he knew she truly did, and agreed with him. “And you are right.” She turned her head and pressed her ear against his heart and Dwalin could feel his own heartbeat reverberating through their bond. “As long as I’m not like Dani I don’t care. I don’t want to have my One slip away from my grasp just because I don’t make it clear I want him in my life. You’ll never be rid of me.” She said it firmly, possessively, like a promise.

Like a vow.

Dwalin felt his ears turn red.

“Who’s Dani?”

She looked up at him, her forehead pulled into a frown. “Dani,” she said, “Dany Dubun’ibin. Durin’s One? The dam Mahal forged to be his mate?” She blinked when he looked at her blankly, and Dwalin could feel her confusion at the fact that he did not know something that was clearly basic knowledge to her. _Which Durin is she talking about?_ “They woke together as Eru decreed, and adored each other,” Ruby explained, “but when Durin began travelling, the urge to gain knowledge and experience too great to ignore, Dani let him go on his own instead of insisting on coming with him. It was Mahal’s fault, for he designed Durin to be restless, driven to meet others and expand his horizons, but he made her to be steady and bound to the stone of Gundabad, where they had awoken.”

Mahal, she was talking about Deathless? Durin Deathless and his One. Dwalin had never heard about the Father of all Longbeards having had a dam destined to be his by the will of the Maker from the moment he was brought into being. To his knowledge - and that of everyone else he knew and had grown up with - the Seven Fathers woke alone. “What happened to them?”

Ruby sighed sadly, her fingers toying with the ties of his tunic and it was so distracting that he reached out to cover them with his large hand to still her. She blushed but met his eyes steadily. “He forgot about her. He was busy founding Khazad-Dûm and inviting members of the other clans to join him there, to create the greatest kingdom of Dwarrowdom. When he finally remembered and went back to Mount Gundabad he found the halls with magnificent carvings in columns, reliefs and statues. And Dani Dubin’ibin’s image of herself on a marble plinth, where she depicted herself as she was old and grey and hunched by age, looking longingly south, where she’d been able to sense her One. Who, even after a life spanning more years than that of any other dwarf, had not deemed it important to share in companionship with his mate, nor she to seek him. Durin was heartbroken at his loss, and Mahal was angry, for they both had spurned his gift and as a result the line of Durin has no heirs from the first forging.”

Dwalin sat frozen. Was this another revelation like what they learned about Blessed Bonds? “But he had heirs?” Everybody knew Durin had been reborn six times up to now and had fathered countless pebbles to continue his line. All the way down to Thráin.

And Thorin.

And _Ruby_.

“Mahal called upon Eru Iluvatar in his frustration and disappointment, asking for advice. Iluvatar does not like to interfere in His own creation, and He does not normally fix His children’s mistakes. He is, however, one who is said to believe in second chances. So He granted Mahal to see Durin reborn seven times. The choice was also given to Dani, but she declined, her desire to be with Durin did not reach beyond Itdendûm, and she had long lost the wish to mother her own pebbles, submerged in her own craft and creations as she was. It was then that Mahal changed His design of dwarrowdams. He instilled in all of them the sole power to recognize the ones they shared a soul with. And as the line of Durin had shown itself to be utterly thick-headed and incapable to look past their own forge Mahal made sure those dams and dwarves he deemed particularly special could not misunderstand His will by creating Blessed Bonds.”

Dwalin stared dumbly at the lassie in his arms. This, all of this story about Durin Deathless had to be some ridiculous rumour! Some Dwarrow’s fictional attempt at entertaining the masses in a story. It had to be! Because how come he, Dwalin, had never heard of it? But no, Dwalin could sense the utter conviction behind the lassies every word. If this was the truth it was not a truth known to many. But it was known to Ruby Makhdûna.

Naturally, she picked up on his utter bewilderment. Her confused frown said it all. “Isn’t it something every dwarf knows?”

Slowly shaking his head Dwalin confirmed that rather unbelievable fact. “No. It is not something I’ve ever heard. It’s true, I am no scholar, but I have been brought up with plenty of lessons in Khazad history. How do you know this?”

She worried her fingers that still lay in his large hands. “I have books. It’s what Adad used to teach me to read and write my Cirth. The books were written by Író Zirizarrab. He was the husband of Durin the Second. Who imparted much of his knowledge from his previous life and from Itdendûm to him.”

_Mahal!_

He stared at Ruby so dumbfounded that the lass averted her eyes in discomfort. “Adad always said that while it’s no secret Khazad pride cuts sharper than the mightiest blade the fact that Deathless let himself be blinded with admiration for all he’s fashioned to the point where he forgot his One, letting down his line in the process is the most shameful thing. It should be a reminder to all Longbeards to treasure those who care about them more than fame and fortune, more than gold and riches. Damâm uru ‘aban.”

_Dam_ _â_ _m uru ‘aban._

Blood over Stone.

The saying was as old as time, but too many times its meaning was forgotten. Especially by those of Durin’s line. Durin, the first of his name, who had a One. Dwalin’s head was spinning.

“Are you’re saying all the Seven Fathers awoke with a dam that was their One?”

”Yes.”

“And Deathless had Dani Dubun’ibin, but they both mucked up Mahal’s plan and that’s when our Maker changed how dams recognize their Ones and how some Ones of Durin’s line find each other?”

“Yes.” She smiled a little at his rather blunt summary. Then her face scrunched up.

“What is it, Amhâhul?” Dwalin nudged her.

“I just don’t understand how we have a Blessed Bond? I know Adad was Longbeard, but I didn’t think he was of Durin’s line.”

The emotions that surged through Dwalin at her words were too complex and too intense for him to be able to form them into thoughts, let alone coherent sentences. And, judging by the uncertainty and turmoil he felt from her, Ruby could not make sense of them either. He reached for her and hugged her close with a deep sigh. She readily let herself be hugged, and Dwalin credited her highly that she didn’t barrage him with questions when it would have to be very clear to her that he had much to tell. Moving his hand to trail it over her shoulders and the wealth of raven hair Dwalin marveled at the feeling of her silken curls dancing around his fingers. “So beautiful,” he rasped, the compliment heartfelt and meaning both her hair and the fact he had her in his arms.

His One.

Then his fingers snagged on something.

With a closed throat he looked at the thin braid behind her ear, woven towards the back of her head.

A braid with seven strands.

A daughter’s braid.

Held by a tiny bead, barely bigger than the nail of his smallest finger. Not metal. Wood. Walnut most likely, judging by the dark colour Dwalin could barely make out in the dim light. But clear as day in the golden glow coming from the kitchen window was Thráin’s mark carved into the surface. Dwalin carefully touched it, held it between thumb and forefinger for a moment. He sighed and buried his face in Ruby’s thick hair.

“You knew him,” she said, without lifting her head from its comfortable position against his chest.

It was not a question.

He sighed again. “Aye, I knew Thráin, son of Thrór. I knew him well.” Lifting his head he searched her face. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” The sadness that filled her told him the truth. He sighed. “When did he die, Ruby?”

“It’s been thirteen years,” she whispered. And then “Will you tell me? Will you tell me what you know about him?”

“Aye, Khajmel, I will.” Dwalin buried one hand in the thick hair on the back on her head to tilt her face up and pulled her forehead against his. “I promise I will. But not today.” He moved back and pressed a long kiss to her temple. “Not today. Because it is a sad and desperate tale, and you are weary and emotions run too high.”

“And because I slapped that mabaggalûn?” she asked.

Dwalin couldn’t hold back a strained laugh. “Aye, because of that, too. It was not a good thing to slap him, even though he deserved it for what he said.” He touched his lips to the side of her head. “Emotions run too high,” he said again, muttering it into her hair. “And that ‘abanjabl does ever react to situations that unsettle him with a scornful temper. He’ll soon tire of his own air, don’t you worry. And then he’ll embrace your presence just as much as I am.” It was true, at least the first part. Regarding the second part Dwalin could only hope. But Thorin in his life had come around on many subjects he rejected at first, and Dwalin sincerely wished this one was going to be no different. Although he’d not deny that the knowledge of Thráin alive for so many years without making contact with his son was one particularly bitter pill to swallow for Thorin.

Ruby nuzzled her face into his beard and Dwalin closed his eyes. “Maybe I’ll apologize,” she mumbled, suddenly sounding very tired, “And then we can start over.”

He had to smile. _She sounds just like Bilbo, always so willing to reconcile_. “I think that’s a fabulous idea, Amhâhul.”

Humming a little the lass snuggled into him and yawned. He could feel the exhausting pulling at her. Aye, from what she’d told sleep had been sincerely lacking since she made her escape from this Tanner person’s compound. And a lot of running had also brought her body to its limits of what it could endure. She was hardy though, hardier than even the toughest Hobbit, the Dwarf in her giving her strength in adversity and the stubbornness to not be defeated by it. As he felt her falling asleep in his arms Dwalin was deeply touched that she trusted him enough to keep her safe. That she already knew him enough to believe he would not betray that trust, ever.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, in the grass outside Bilbo’s smial, the light from the kitchen window bathing them in a warm glow, but he sat long enough for Ruby’s breaths to become deep and even, her body growing heavy as deep sleep took her.

When he could no longer excuse it to himself that he simply wanted to relish holding her close like this Dwalin carefully got to his feet without jostling her too much and carried her inside. Balin was waiting for him, lost in thought while sitting on a chair in Bag End’s entry, a nearly empty glass of Bilbo’s blackberry brandy in his hand. His Nadad’s eyes focused on him sharply as soon as he entered, but they softened immediately when he took note of the sleeping lass in his arms.

Getting to his feet Balin waved him along, opening the door to the guest bedroom Dori had inhabited previously. He pulled the blankets back on the bed and Dwalin carefully lay her down. Ruby didn’t even stir. Dwalin pulled the blankets tight around her and gently smoothed her hair away from her face. She muttered something at his touch and turned her body towards him, sighing deeply before her breaths evened out once more.

When they had made it back into the hall Balin asked in a low voice: “She alright?”

Dwalin shrugged. Balin’s wise old eyes remained focused on him, as usual silently demanding an explanation that contained actual _words_. “Aye, she’s alright. Was upset about Thorin’s comment, of course, but in the end I think she’s just too exhausted to think straight just now.” He sighed and rubbed his chest. “Our bond is strong, Nadad, stronger than I’ve ever thought it possible a bond could be. I can feel her, inside my heart. I can sense her emotions in addition to my own, as she can feel mine.” He sighed. “She knows I’ve known Thráin.”

Balin nodded in understanding. “But you’ve not told her how?”

Shaking his head Dwalin shrugged again. “How can I? How can I put my whole life into a few quick sentences, or all of what happened in his? It didn’t seem the right time, if there ever is such a thing. It’s too miserable a tale. And she’s too tired to cope with it just now. Was too hurt. Didn’t feel like she belonged here, amongst us. I cannot have that, Nadad, her not feeling like she belongs where I belong.”

“Aye,” Balin smoothed over his beard, as always immediately comprehending what Dwalin was trying to say.

“He’s dead, Nadad,” Dwalin added simply.

Balin sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment, suddenly looking old. Dwalin reached out to grasp Balin’s shoulder and pulled their foreheads together. They stood like that for a moment, then Balin stepped back and turned towards the kitchen. “Come, we’ve kept you a plate. You don’t know how the next days will be and should eat while you can.”

Dwalin followed and soon was sat down at the table, a large platter of spiced cured sausage, leftover roast with a generous helping of potato bake, parsnip mash and a large terrine of pepper gravy.

“Everyone already in bed?” he asked as he began heaping food on his fork.

Balin nodded as he took his seat across. “Bilbo wanted to be alone, Dori bedded down in the sitting room. And Thorin ... I don’t know where Thorin is.”

Making clear what he thought of his King avoiding his husband Dwalin only gave a grunt, but otherwise busied himself with his food. It was, as ever, plenty of food to fill even his stomach, and Bilbo even left a few sweet sugar cookies on a small plate for him. Dwalin smiled at the memory of Ruby’s scent.

When he looked up and met his brother’s raised eyebrows he rolled his eyes. “Nothing happened, Nadad, between her and I. It’s true, our hearts and minds are bonded, but our bodies are not, and won’t be for some time. You have my word on that. She’s too precious to me, I’ll not give in to the temptation, and the temptation is strong, make no mistake.” He emphasized his words by pointing his fork at Balin. “And since she as good as vowed I won’t be rid of her we have even less of a reason to rush anything.”

With the last sentence Dwalin couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice and Balin chuckled at that. “She is a tenacious lass,” he admitted easily, a fond smile on his face. “She fits right into the family. Durin’s blood has ever been strong.”

That’s when Dwalin remembered Dani Dubun’Ibin. He put his fork down and looked at his brother intently. Aye, Balin would get his beard in a tangle at that revelation, that much was certain.

And so he told him.

*

Later that night Dwalin woke with a start. Dimly he felt an echo of terror and panic and at first wasn’t sure where that came from. Then he remembered Ruby Mahdûna and reached out in his mind to feel for her consciousness.

“She alright?” Balin asked after a while in a sleepy mutter next to him.

Sensing his One’s feelings from across the smial Dwalin smiled, immediately relaxing. “Yes, she’s with Bilbo. They are cooking.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of drama and fluff in this long chapter. And a fair bit of history stuff. Too much for some, maybe. And maybe it is. But it all made sense in my head. And it's important stuff for later.  
> And yeah ... so ... um ... Thráin :(
> 
> sharagâl – liar  
> ‘The walls of hell are coated with arrogance, and the floor is covered with pride.’ T.A. Cline – took me forever to find a quote that works here, I hope this does the trick.  
> Tada ma sasakhi ya ‘azâgzu ma mahsa’dadi ya gal’zu. – What you don’t see with your eyes, don’t invent with your mouth.  
> Khajmel – gift of all gifts  
> Amhâhul - amazing gem  
> Master Baker Pulla – pulla is the Finnish version of a cinnamon roll  
> Nâtha – daughter  
> Dani Dubun’Ibin – Dani Gentle Gem  
> Gundabad = Delved Mountain, Holy Mountain of Khazad  
> Makhdûna – Blend of all Blends, Ruby’s epithet.  
> Damâm uru ‘aban. – Blood over Stone. (Family is more important than anything.)  
> mabaggalûn - he who continues to speak badly of s.o.  
> ‘abanjabl – stone brain
> 
> An explanation:  
> The story of Mahal and his creations of seven dwarves always has fascinated me. It doesn’t make sense to me that he would have only created males and I would think he made pairs of male/female (let’s not forget he’s married to Yavanna, goddess of all things green and living, who certainly would know about stuff like fertility, and me thinks he'd be well familiar with the ins and outs of that). History, however, largely written my males, has forgotten the ladies. Reading the Silmarillion always left me with the clear feeling that Mahal’s creation was well meant but had a lot of flaws. I’ve used these ‘flaws’ and weaved them in my story.  
> Durin Deathless lived the span of many dwarven lives. For much of that life he travelled, in a Middle Earth that was dangerous and dark. If he had children I cannot see him having taken them with him. Meaning they were in some mountain somewhere and he was probably a mostly absent father. So I figured I throw yet another spanner into the wheels of Mahal’s creation and make it so that Durin’s One was as self-centered on her stuff as he was on his. Leaving them with no kids. Tolkien never gave a reason why Durin should be reborn time and time again, I’ve made the childless first forging that reason.


	13. Early Morning Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way Hobbits bond

(Ruby)

Ruby sleepily snuggled into Dwalin’s strong arms. Yes, she would apologize to that idiotic dwarf with the long black hair. She didn’t even know his name and felt too tired just now to muster the strength to ask Dwalin about it, but she _knew_ Dwalin was close to him.

 _That_ _‘_ _abanjabl did deserve it though,_ she thought with an internal grumble. It was not to be born to speak ill of someone else’s mother. Had he no manners?

She fidgeted a little to get more comfortable. Dwalin was so _warm_. He was unlike any dwarf she had ever met. Not that she had met very many. The travelling smiths, tinkers and caravan guards coming through Bree weren’t really representable for the males of a whole race. In a way Dwalin reminded her of her Adad. He had been strong, too, and taller than any dwarf she had seen - even if not quite as tall as Dwalin - but with an equally proud bearing. And he also had inked markings on his face and his hands. It was familiar.

And Dwalin smelled _so good_.

She had not been exaggerating when she told him: he smelled of all the things she had always loved; of sun baked stone and forge fire. Of steel and crisp winter mornings. Of fur and the salty rubs her Mama had used on their cured meats. And wasn’t it curious that she smelled like sugar and butter and _bakery_ to him? She was held by his strong arms yet her whole being felt surrounded by Dwalin’s presence. It was the most exquisite feeling. And _so_ confusing. Because she didn’t just feel her own happiness bubbling away in her stomach, she felt his happiness, too. But just like her own sadness, worry and shame she also felt his sadness, his lingering emotion of worry and shame. A lot of things needed to be said between them, she knew, many of them about Thráin, son of Thrór, and part of her wanted to do it now, only she was so _tired_ and in a drowsy way comfortable that she couldn’t bring herself to even begin to figure out what this discordant undercurrent of wary and conflicting feelings in his soul meant.

At some stage she must have fallen asleep in his arms because the next thing she knew was her startling awake and him shushing her, a soft hum into her ear that made her shiver. “It’s alright, Amhâhul, I’m carrying you to bed.” Soon she was bedded onto a downy mattress and fluffy pillow and covered with a soft blanket. And, surrounded by the sweet scent of fresh linen, lavender, sunshine and grass, Ruby slept.

*

_Running._

_Running, running, running. Her feet trip over tangled roots and her booted steps thump over endless forest floor._

_The sound of someone behind her, breaking through the underbrush. Someone chasing her. Lungs aching and naked fear gripping her stomach with an icy grasp._

_Many feet padding over moss and pine needles. Snarling breaths and dangerous growls. The image of white fangs, dripping with saliva making her heart throb with panic._

_Suddenly splashes accompany her every step. Looking down she sees blood. Blood splashing up, up her boots, up her legs. A scream splits the air and amidst the sound of a sob she realizes it is her who is screaming. The snarls and growls get louder and she can almost feel the hot, feral breath on her back. Then she trips._

_*_

Ruby woke with a start, her heart pounding.

For a moment she didn’t recognize her surroundings and panic gripped her. Sitting up she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, looking around the dark room frantically, her breathing coming fast. Her eyes fell on a round door and a purple morning gown and a soothing presence niggled in the back of her mind and she remembered.

She was not in Tanner’s compound anymore. Nori and Kirvi helped her escape. She was in the home of Bilbo Baggins now. Her _cousin_. And she had found her One. Dwalin, son of Fundin. She had kissed him. And he had kissed her. It had been the hottest thing she’d ever experienced, and she had all but wanted to take off his clothes, and hers, and rub herself against him, skin on skin. Ruby covered her mouth with a hand to suppress a hysterical giggle.

How insane was this situation?

Heat rose in her face and she knew she blushed, not for the first time that day. Rubbing her cheeks with her hands Ruby shook her head at herself. _Yavanna, he probably thinks I am a beetroot, blushing left, front and center._

Dwalin.

Even relaxed all his muscles felt hard as solid stone. Solid and comforting, and warm. So very warm. And safe. So familiar, even though Ruby didn’t know him. And yet, she did.

Listening deep inside her Ruby had to admit to herself that all the odd, inexplicable stirrings she had felt in all her life now made sense. Because they were all connected to _him_.

To her One.

Because he was the other half of her soul.

Despite of all she knew about Blessed Bonds, being faced with such a deep connection was a nearly overwhelming experience. There was no clear line that marked an end to her and a beginning of him, their two minds were one, their consciousness flowing together, creating a perfect harmony.

How his fingers had twirled through her long hair. How he knew exactly how to hold her close to give her comfort. How he had - judging by the state of his trousers - very much _liked_ having her close. And how he still had kept it together and managed to fight the temptation when Ruby had all but been ready to give into it. _He probably has far more experience in this kind of thing than I do._

Ruby frowned at the thought.

How had it not occurred to her before that Dwalin may have formed an attachment with another? He was not young, even by his race’s standards, but he looked skilled and fierce and strong, all attributes that were highly praised in his race. Likely an important dwarf, too, judging by his bearing and due to the fact that he was staying in the home of the Baggins of Bag End. An envoy of sorts maybe? It would make sense that a dwarf like that would have caught another dam’s eye. Even if he was not her One.

_That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have fallen in love with her and be loved back._

But no, she would have sensed that in him. There had been no trace of another in his heart.

Ruby knew Dwalin only dozed. She could sense him across the hall. His body was calm and comfortable, but his mind kept searching for her, was taunt, ready to prompt his body into jumping up and coming to her if she needed him. She didn’t want him to worry about her though. She was not that kind of lass, helpless and in constant need of guidance. She had been managing getting through a lot on her own for a rather long time.

She sighed and stretched out on her back, looking at the ceiling.

The straw filled mattress in the cot she slept on in Tanner’s compound had been too lumpy and bumpy to be ever really comfortable and the cot in the kitchen corner too small to stretch out fully. This bed had soft, cushiony padding and sweet smelling, smooth linen sheets. Yet, suddenly this cozy, peaceful room in Bag End was too quiet and too large. The dark space around the bed seemed to hold any number of haunting images, and she felt like floating, lost on a white island in the shadows of night.

In the recess of her mind she felt Dwalin stir. He was waking, roused by her uneasy thoughts. Part of her wanted him to come running and hold her again. But the other part felt already exhausted with emotion, and he certainly did nothing to quell stirring feelings when he was near. They intensified in a thrilling, exhilarating way that expelled all other thoughts and emotions from her mind.

It was not what she needed just now.

It was dark outside, but Ruby guessed it was closer to sunrise than midnight. She climbed out of her bed and slid into the pretty purple morning gown. The patchwork of silk, velvet and cotton felt soft under her fingers. She had known the moment Dori had ushered her into it that it had been made by her Mama. Giving in to the intuitive awareness Khazad called makansul she indulged in observing a much younger Berylla in what she recognized as her old room in Tuckborough, sowing together the many squares and rectangles in all shades of lilac and magenta. Yes, younger her Mama did look, Ruby mused, instinctively knowing that the morning gown had been a gift for Belladonna, but she did not look happy. The peaceful twinkle in Berylla’s eyes was missing. The calm serenity she had known her Mama to have was wholly absent.

Allowing her mind to stay in that room in Tuckborough for a while Ruby eventually sighed deeply and returned to the presence. She put on the morning gown and silently slid out of the room. Standing in the dark she listened. Faint snoring came from deeper in the smial and light shone into the hallway from farther down the left. The clinking of porcelain drew her to follow the light and a moment later she found herself in the kitchen.

Bilbo Baggins sat on a chair at the table, chin resting in a hand, the other idly stirring a spoon in the mug before him. He looked up when she padded in, nervously clenching her hands in front of her. “Hello,” he said and gave her a kind, if somewhat tired smile. “Can’t sleep any more either?”

She shook her head and timidly smiled back at him.

He looked at her warmly, taking in her worrying hands, and got to his feet. “I haven’t introduced myself, although I guess it’s pretty clear who I am.” He bowed. “Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins, at your service. Which I believe makes us first cousins, and since our mothers were twins it makes us first cousins of a special kind.”

Ruby fought and lost against the tears that filled her eyes.

“It is good to have found you, Ruby. Even though it’s more accurate that you found me.” Bilbo opened his arms and Ruby shuffled froward, hesitant at first, but when he took a step towards her she quickly closed the gap between them and hugged him. He held her tightly.

When he leaned back after a long while he cleared his throat. “Well, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: when I can’t sleep, I cook. And I was just now - over a mug of tea - contemplating on what to make. I was torn between a bread pudding and a nice little apple crumble with nuts. What do you think?”

She shrugged a little, hoping her tummy wouldn’t rumble. “I ... I ...” She faltered. She hadn’t had a choice of food in _so long_.

Bilbo smiled. “Then again it’s a special occasion and maybe we should go all out and indulge in a nice little omelet with ham and mushrooms.” He giggled when her eyes went wide. “Mushrooms it is.”

Soon Ruby found herself standing side by side with Bilbo, chopping onion, ham, mushrooms and a few herbs in comfortable silence. When that was done Bilbo began whisking eggs in a bowl.

“Nori ... Nori said the eggs in Hobbiton are the best he has ever had,” she told Bilbo quietly.

The hobbit laughed. “Did he now? Well, tastes are different of course, but it’s certainly true that Fribaldo Hay’s eggs are the finest in these parts of the world. You’ll get to form your own opinion in a minute. Why don’t you put the kettle on?”

While Ruby did just that he slowed in his whisking. “Did you ... did you have reasonably good food where you were for the last ten years?” he asked carefully.

Thinking of the storeroom and her little vegetable garden she nodded. “I ... I was in charge for cooking. Everything was counted and kept track of, so I ... wasn’t really free to cook what I wanted when I wanted it, and certainly not seven meals a day.” She ran her hand over the smooth kitchen bench. “But there was a vegetable garden and chickens. Only, they had to stay in their coop because of the dogs ...” she trailed off. Looking at the neat row of plates and assortment of copper pots and iron skillets and pans hanging from the rack she sighed. “Your kitchen is much nicer though. And the bench is the right height. I had to use a box to reach the counter and the stove.”

Bilbo goggled with mock outrage. “No!”

She giggled.

He shook his head and pulled a playful frown. “The ignorance of tall people. And it’s not only Men; Elves are not much better. The amount of times I had to clamber up a chair that was too tall for me and sit on a pillow, just so that I can join them at their table. It’s undignified!”

She stared at him. “You’ve been sitting at a table with Elves?”

He froze a little and shot her a quick glance. “Well, yes. I’ve travelled a fair bit, so when one gets around it’s bound to happen.” The kettle whistled and the Hobbit pointed. “Tea’s there and take the Westfarthing teapot and cups. Sugar is there and milk is in the pantry. Or cream if you want any.”

She did as she was told - staring at the full shelves groaning under their load in the pantry made her a little dazed - while Bilbo quickly began frying off the onions, adding the ham and the mushrooms and then the eggs. A little sprinkling of fresh herbs and a pinch of salt and pepper later he beckoned her to the table and put the full plate in front of her. “Here you go, Ruby, enjoy.”

She brought her nose close to the food and inhaled the sweet, creamy smell of fresh eggs and earthy mushrooms. The first bite was bliss and as soon as she began chewing it had her moan, making Bilbo grin ... and Dwalin awake with a start. She felt him search for her in his mind, smile and relax again, so he must have figured out what she was doing.

It was silent in the kitchen while they ate. Once Ruby scraped the last bit of egg from her plate she sat back with a content sigh. “Thank you,” she said and truly meant it. “I haven’t had mushrooms since ...” Her face fell. “... in a long while,” she finished, pushing that other memory back down.

Bilbo only nodded and she was glad he didn’t pry. But she had questions. “Your ... your mother. Belladonna. Is she still alive?”

The expression on Bilbo’s face said it all.

Ruby hung her head. “I am sorry,” she whispered.

Bilbo waved a hand dismissively. “It is no secret and you certainly have a right to know. My father had been gravely ill during the Fell Winter and he never quite recovered from it. When he died my mother lived another eight years before she followed him. She was 82 then. A blessed age, true, but still younger than she should have been for a Hobbit.” He shot her a quick glance. “What about your mother? Berylla?”

Avoiding his eyes Ruby fixed her gaze on a spot at the table. “She was 89. She died three years after Adad.”

Bilbo hummed and smiled sadly. “Well, it looks like even in this our mothers were rather alike.”

“You have siblings?” she asked him, looking up again.

Her cousin slowly shook his head. “No, I am their only child, as unusual as it is for a Hobbit family. And I was a late child, too. My mother had a lot of problems conceiving and then during the pregnancy and she always said it was a blessing that she at least had me.”

Ruby nodded in understanding. “My mother was already in her late fifties when she had me. It took a lot out of her but she always said she wouldn’t have it any other way.” She rubbed her nose. “I don’t have any siblings either. It’s a shame, really,” she added wistfully, “I always wanted an older brother.”

Bilbo stood abruptly, bumping into the table and almost spilling the tea before he turned towards the kitchen. Ruby looked at his retreating form, startled. “Bilbo?”

“I’m fine,” his voice sounded odd. “I’m just ... I think I’m quite up to that apple crumble now. And I should put on some lamb to braise, for lunch. You want to help?”

Ruby scrambled to her feet. “Sure.”

A moment later she had the sleeves of her morning gown folded up again, Bilbo tied an apron around her waist and then she followed his instructions to chop, peel, whisk and stir. Soon a lovely lamb shoulder sat on a bed of juicy carrots, potatoes and onions and began to fill the kitchen with an enticing smell, while the caramelizing sugar bubbled on the apple crumble. Bilbo made a huge batch of dough, turning half into cinnamon scrolls because ‘they always get eaten’ and pushed the other half to her with the instruction to make sugar cookies because ‘Dwalin eats them nineteen to the dozen’, giving her a wink.

Ruby’s cheeks heated and she focused intently on the dough.

“It’s a good thing you know,” Bilbo said suddenly.

She gave him a questioning look.

“You and Dwalin. He’s a good dwarf. A bit gruff and rough around the edges maybe, but he’s honest and honourable and very loyal. On top of that he’s a mighty fine warrior and a Master Smith. I confess it’s always been beyond me how he didn’t catch anyone’s eye.”

Ruby felt the blush crawl up her face. _Blessed Mahal and Yavanna, why do I always have to blush?_ “I ... I don’t know how it happened, really,” she tried to explain. “Nori said to get to Bag End and give his bead to the tall, dark haired dwarf, but as soon as I saw Dwalin ... “ She rubbed at her forehead with the back of her floury hand. “He makes me feel safe. Even though it’s awfully hard to focus when I’m around him.” She bit her lip at that confession and she felt her face going even hotter. “But I don’t mind that. Is that a bad thing?”

Bilbo chuckled and slung an arm around her shoulders. “No, Ruby, it’s not a bad thing at all. But you should make sure you get to know one another before you get too ... distracted with ... other things. Not let this whole … One business run away with you.”

Ruby was certain her face was positively glowing by now. She nodded. “Yes, he said the same. But I’m not so sure we’ll manage.”

“Well, Dwalin is a lot older in years than you. He is very disciplined and should be able to keep it together. I trust him, just follow his lead. And don’t ever hesitate to come to me if you have questions or if you’re unsure about something. Or to Dori for that matter. He’s a good dwarf, too, and he has raised his two brothers after their Amad returned to Stone. It’s true, Nori is very different to Ori,” he chuckled a little as if he made a joke only he understood, “But despite their difference in character they are all three excellent dwarves.” He winked at her. “What did you think of Nori?”

Ruby hesitated. What did she think of Nori? “I think Nori is a very dangerous dwarf,” she said carefully and was relieved when Bilbo nodded very seriously at that. “But he’s also nice and managed to get me away from that place.” She felt worry gnaw on her. “I hope he’s alright. Him and Kirvi.”

“You are right,” Bilbo agreed, “Nori is a very dangerous dwarf. He has a unique set of skills and can be rather ruthless when pursuing a goal. But he’s a good dwarf, and in his own way no less loyal than Dwalin. I have no doubt that he managed to keep himself and Kirvi safe. We’ll find out soon. On that note,” Bilbo slapped the bench lightly. “I’m guessing the others will be up soon. Better get breakfast ready.” He brought more eggs and onions from the pantry, gave her some bacon to cut and went to fetch wine for the lamb jus from the cellar.

There were some sounds from somewhere deeper in the smial and Ruby sensed Dwalin getting up and busying himself with his ablutions. She knew when he tended to his beard because he thought of her hands in it. 

_Blast! Am I blushing?_

Ruby had to put the knife down for a moment, willing the heat in her face to go away. It took a fair number of deep, steadying breaths to manage before she could continue her task without fear of chopping off her fingers by accident. In the back of her mind she felt amusement (and a fair few other emotions) bubble up in Dwalin before he, too, did his best to reign himself back in. Soon his focus was on his armour and weapons, and Ruby couldn’t help but marvel at the military, disciplined way he got himself mentally and physically ready to take on the mantle of the perfect warrior.

“Good morning,” a voice said from the door a little while later, just as Ruby was done piling bacon slices on a board and washed her hands. The white-haired dwarf smiled at her. She returned his smile cautiously as she turned to face him. “I can see Bilbo is putting the Hobbit in you through her paces,” he said kindly.

Ruby blushed. “I couldn’t sleep anymore,” she said, feeling the need to explain.

“Yes, Dwalin said you had bad dreams. He was tossing and turning half the night, worrying over you.”

Confused, Ruby frowned.

The white-haired dwarf chuckled. “Dwalin and I share a room. We are brothers.” He bowed. “Balin, son of Fundin, at your service.”

Feeling terribly embarrassed Ruby curtsied before bowing from the waist and hurried to dry her hands on her apron. “I am sorry, I ...”

Balin chuckled again. “None of that, my dear Ruby. There was no proper time to make things official. It is no matter. We do it now.” He slowly stepped near and looked at her closely. His eyes twinkled friendly but Ruby could see that this was a dwarf with a mind as sharp as Nori’s knives. Behind his friendly demeanor hid a dwarf cut from granite and steel, like his brother.

“But I _am_ sorry,” Ruby said quietly, very honestly, “I did add myself to your family just like that. You could well resent me for it.”

Balin firmly shook his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I might as well resent Mahal for having made you Dwalin’s One. In all of this, I am of truly little consequence. And I know my little brother. He is happy. Happier than he has ever been. So come here, Ruby Makhdûna,” he placed his hands gently on her shoulders and pulled her forehead to his, “And let me welcome you into our family.” Ruby closed her eyes and held her breath. Letting the feeling of acceptance wash over her. It was nice, so very nice.

She felt _him_ before he cleared his throat. “This is a happy sight for my sore eyes,” Dwalin rumbled behind them, sounding beyond pleased.

Balin let her go and stepped back, smiling. “Well, it was past time to do things proper. The house of Fundin is honoured to have been given Mahal’s attention by gifting a Blessed One to its youngest son.”

Ruby looked up at Dwalin. He was tall indeed, towering over his brother and her, wearing a rather splendid chain mail shirt that ended mid-arm and mid-thigh. The round steel rings were smaller than normal and painstakingly made of alternating rows of riveted and solid rings. It was exquisite work. A heavily studded belt with loops for several weapons held together the padded leather jerkin. That, too, was exquisite work. Dwalin’s arms were bare, leaving tattoos and scars visible – both of which were plenty. The only tattoos partially hidden were the ones on the warrior’s wrists and hands: metal plates and hinges covered much of Dwalin’s skin.

All in all her One was looking exceptionally handsome and Ruby swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth. Her eyes sought his, bright blue gazing into his steely grey. Immediately Ruby felt as if all her organs were melting as if thrown into the smeltery. Dwalin grinned at her knowingly and stepped up, gripping her hips firmly and lifting her toes off Bilbo’s kitchen floor, placing a sound smack of a kiss on her lips before setting her down again gently.

Ruby felt the heat climbing up into her cheeks and lay her hands flat against the chainmail on Dwalin’s broad chest, briefly resting her forehead on them. The image of Dwalin in a well-organized forge were flashing through her head, where she could see him busy with forming the thousands of steel rings. _He did his armour himself_. A shudder went through her and she groaned. _Mahal! Am I blushing again?_ Yep, definitely blushing.

Dwalin chuckled and she looked up. The warrior gazed down at her with such honest mirth and sincere affection that it didn’t help her flush at all.

Clearing his throat behind her in an obvious attempt to diffuse the tension Balin rubbed his hands. “It does smell divine. Where is Bilbo?”

“He’s getting some wine for the lamb,” Ruby explained, not able to take her eyes off Dwalin.

“Good morning, Amhâhul,” the warrior said softly, smiling. He lifted a hand and gently brushed the pads of his fingers over her cheek. “Flour,” he grinned, just as Bilbo came back into the room, Dori in tow.

The prim dwarf came next to her. “Ruby,” Dori said, waiting until she turned towards him. “I have put a clean set of clothes on your bed. Bilbo was kind enough to substitute a few bits from his own wardrobe and I managed to mend the tears in your coat and spot-clean it a bit, as there was no time to properly wash it. I have made a pack for you as well; with a sleeping roll and a few things you might find useful. We might not need any of it, but it’s better to be prepared, just in case.”

Picking up on the ‘we’ Ruby asked: “You’re coming as well?”

Dori nodded, his chin and mouth set firmly. “Aye, not the first time Nori’s got himself in a spot of bother. Unlike many times before though this time I’ll be there to save his sorry behind.”

Recalling the dangerous glint in Nori’s eyes Ruby suddenly also remembered that the russet-haired dwarf had mentioned working for the King. Ruby still wasn’t sure which king that would be. She hadn’t taken him for a member of any of the Eastern Clans but the Broadbeams and Firebeards who lived west hadn’t had a King in centuries and hadn’t he said he had lived in Ered Luin? Looking at Dori with new interest realization hit her that the dwarf might work for the same king as his brother. And what about Dwalin and his brother? Maybe there were all in Hobbiton, working for this king she knew nothing about. Maybe it was a secret mission just like Nori’s? If that was the case, she had to be careful not to blab about it to the wrong people. Ruby made a mental note to ask Dwalin as soon as they had a chance to be alone again.

“I’ll go get changed,” she told Dori, gave Dwalin a small smile and made her way back to the room she had slept in. In the hallway she ran into a young dwarf with red hair and a fine beard.

“Hullo,” he said with a huge grin, bowing to her. “Gimli, son of Glóin, at your service. It’s an honour, Miss Ruby Makhdûna and welcome to the family.”

She frowned. Why honour? And family?

He must have interpreted her expression correctly because he hurried to explain. “My Adad is a first cousin to Balin and Dwalin. And my parents are in a Blessed Bond. They are kind of famous for their strong connection.” He gave her a searching look, his eyes narrowing. “But you and Dwalin ... looks like you’re going to upstage them sooner rather than later.”

_It sounds an awful lot like a thinly veiled criticism._

Feeling her frown deepen Ruby folded her arms before her. It wasn’t her fault, nor Dwalin’s. Surely this ... Gimli wouldn’t be holding it against them?

But Gimli grinned again and lifted a hand to touch her arm carefully. “No,” he assured her brightly, obviously guessing at her thoughts. “It’s great! Two couples in the same family! It’s awesome.” He gestured vaguely to somewhere in the distance. “Better go. Dwalin told me to check on the soldiers to make sure they are ready. We’re leaving as soon as everyone is done with breakfast.”

As the young dwarf sped off Ruby was reminded to get herself ready as well and hurried into her room. Her ablutions didn’t take long, she had had ample practice doing them in lightning speed during all her years at Tanner’s compound. Then she got herself dressed in the pants, shirt and tunic Dori had laid out for her. The pants were clearly hobbitish, as was the shirt, but the tunic was Dwarrow. It was a bit too large and Dori had also provided her with a belt instead of the rope she used to wear for all these years. Judging by the acorns and leaves that were embossed in the leather it was one of Bilbo’s. Her boots had been cleaned and after she had put her socks back on and slid into them she quickly checked over the travel pack. She was grateful for the sleeping roll and a blanket, there was also a change of clothes and an oilskin with a hood. Ruby was quick to comb out her open curls and ready to weave her hair into her usual two thick plaits, leaving them hanging down either side of her face. She paused when she was about to twine her daughter’s braid securely into one of them. There was no need to hide it anymore, she could proudly show her Adad’s bead. With a soft smile and a heavy heart she left it out of the plait, still tying it up with the array of by now pretty frayed fabric straps she had organized for herself in Tanner’s compound but making sure it lay at the top, the small bead clearly visible to any who would be able to read it.

She rushed back out again and just entered the kitchen when Bilbo announced: “Breakfast!”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruby and Bilbo are rather adorable. Let’s not forget that this is day six since Ruby met Nori in Tanner’s compound, and only half a day of her realizing that Bilbo Baggins is her cousin. There is lots of information missing on both ends, on all ends, really, but alas, time has not been in anyone’s favour just yet.  
> Yes, Ruby’s makansul (thing sense) is strong, and not only centered around all things metal. Remember her epithet 😉
> 
> ‘abanjabl – stone brain  
> Amhâhul - amazing gem  
> makansul – that which is sensed = thing sense  
> Makhdûna – Blend of all Blends, Ruby’s epithet.  
> Dani Dubun’Ibin – Dani Gentle Gem


	14. Ruby Mahdûna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby wonders whether her Adad has named her right

(Ruby)

The Hobbit ushered her into the seat opposite Dwalin and his brother, and next to himself. Dori was to Ruby’s left. The chair at the head of the table remained empty, although a plate was there for someone, ready to be filled. The dark-haired dwarf maybe? He was nowhere in sight and Ruby would have been lying if she wasn’t kind of glad he was absent.

A plate was put before her, piled high with crispy bacon, small sausages, buttery mushrooms, thick slices of fried tomato and fluffy rolls. A large mug of tea followed. And a small plate of cut fruits. It startled Ruby to realize that she hadn’t been waited on by anyone in a very long time; it made her uncomfortable and she contemplated getting up and helping, but every time Bilbo walked past her he gave her shoulder a pat, making it clear he wanted her to stay exactly where she was.

Dwalin already dug in heartily, he obviously was very used to be handed food and had a dwarf’s appetite on top of that. When Bilbo was done carrying plates, platters and bowls of food to the table and sat down to eat as well. Conversation flowed easily. There was talk about the soldiers and the patrons at the Green Dragon, about moonshine and Dale ale, about one Master Bakara and his incompetence to keep the mountain goats under control, mention of a Bombur and a Bard and their commiserating about raising daughters, and a love-struck Kíli and ‘his’ Elf. Surely, she’d misheard that bit. It was all very confusing, although at least the bits about Bilbo’s tomatoes and one Hamfast who said that it was too late in the season to sow spring and pickling onions made sense to her.

As she ate with much appetite, she couldn’t help but follow the movement of Dwalin’s hands. The tattoos were no longer fully visible, hidden under the thick leather strap around his wrists and the steel caps that covered the back of his hands and his broad fingers. He was obviously used to wearing his knuckle dusters because he still could handle cutlery with ease, and Bilbo seemed to be used to them as well, providing an especially big, sturdy mug with a large handle for the warrior dwarf and not the dainty, fragile ones he put out for her, Balin, Dori and himself. As Dwalin broke a fluffy bread roll to mop the remains of his scrambled eggs and bacon grease from his plate Ruby stared, mesmerized. His hands were large and, in their strength, obviously as dangerous as weapons of steel. But since she also knew how soft and gentle they could be she couldn’t help but feel warmth pool in her stomach at the thought of those broad, strong fingers in her hair, those broad, strong hands holding her. Feeling the heating of Dwalin’s blood at her eyes observing him she looked up, caught. Heat flared up between them, almost unbearable. Ruby could now understand Író described all the Blessed unions in his book as ‘a sole entity to being a united, merged unit that radiates heat’.

“Excuse me,” Bilbo suddenly said next to her, blatantly waving a hand in front of her face.

Ruby blinked. “Sorry,” she mumbled, turning her attention to her cousin. “You were saying?”

The Hobbit rolled his eyes good natured. “I was saying that I’ll have to teach you my mother’s recipe for chicken and apple sausages. The spice and sage mix is a family secret. She’s not shared it with anyone other than me, but I know she’d want you to be able to make it.” He smirked, a little naughty twinkle in his eyes. “Lobelia will be livid.”

The dwarves laughed. Obviously, they knew this Lobelia, a Hobbit, Ruby was guessing. “Who is she?”

“She’s my cousin Otho’s wife. From the Baggins side. She’s always wanted Bag End. But she’s never going to have it.” Bilbo sniffed disdainfully. “Enough she made off with some of my mother’s silver spoons.”

“Well, replacing them was not difficult, even though I know it’s not the same,” Balin commented serenely while elbowing his brother’s side, who still was staring at Ruby, obviously having picked up on the image of his fingers in her hair ... and very much lingering on that image.

With a grunt towards Balin Dwalin focused his attention once more on his breakfast. Done with the savory items he pulled a plate piled high with sugar cookies closer, shoving one in his mouth without ceremony, munching happily.

Ruby couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of bliss that spread through him.

“Ruby made these,” Bilbo informed the warrior airily before continuing about the provisions for their rescue mission. Dwalin’s eyes lit up at the revelation but Bilbo’s words reminded Ruby of the burning compound and Tanner’s armed men. She frowned and Dwalin turned serious, watching her. “I hope Nori’s alright,” she said quietly, to him as much to herself, but not quiet enough not to be heard.

Bilbo trailed off and her words hung in the room for a moment.

“So do I,” Dwalin admitted sincerely. “But if anyone can manage to get out of a pickle like what you’ve been describing it’s Nori.”

Dori sighed. “Aye, it’s true. For all his faults my brother knows how to keep himself safe. He’s done some crazy stunts in his life, but he’s always come home in one piece.” And he was off telling about one rich merchant who woke from a drunken stupor naked and with a fake donkey’s tail attached to him, in the middle of a busy market. Balin added some tale about Ered Luin and Dwalin being cranky because now he wasn’t allowed to catch Nori and Bilbo spoke about Elven treasures from the Second Age and goblins living in filth and not having the slightest sense of interior design. The dwarves chuckled over their reminiscing, but Ruby felt herself more and more confused.

Why would Dwalin want to catch Nori? And why would Nori have Elven treasures? And why would Bilbo know about how goblins lived? It sounded as if he had seen it. But that didn’t make sense, because Bilbo was a Baggins and Bagginses were way too respectable to do any travelling, and nobody mingled with gobblins. Yet Bilbo had dined with Elves, was hosting Dwarrow and knew how goblins lived.

Ruby wasn’t naïve enough to not understand that her secluded upbringing left much to be desired in the ways of the world. She also understood that the fact her parents had chosen to live away from their respective peoples made them outcasts of sorts. But as the reminder hit her that despite all she’d been through and with everything her parents had taught her she knew little of anything Ruby fell quieter and quieter, her food forgotten on her plate and her appetite gone.

Her childhood had been a happy one but Ruby had always been aware that the special family dynamics she knew from her home were not the norm for most other people, no matter what race they belonged to. As such it was not surprising that her upbringing had distorted her view of a lot of things. Now she could not help but wonder: Where in the world did she fit in? Would she ever be able to be at ease as much as Bilbo obviously was amongst the dwarves in his kitchen? Would she ever be as comfortable talking about Men as the Dwarves were talking about this Bard and his children? It gnawed on her when she had to confess to herself that she didn’t know two worlds.

Not at all.

Really, she knew nothing but how her parents lived and how to keep her mind sane amongst enemies, which was something, of course. But it was not what Ruby Makhdûna should be all about. Not for the first time she wondered why her Adad had given her the name. He had returned to Stone when she was still five years off her maturity. While he had always insisted on her learning reading, writing and her numbers as well as the ancient history of Arda she had no doubt that she lacked a great deal of practical knowledge about the world of Khazad and Hobbits, both. For one, she’d never lived in a smial, nor under stone.

Dwalin had stopped eating the sugar cookies, a deep crease on his forehead as he watched her intently. He pushed the plate away and reached across the table to place his hand near hers, open palm up. “Tell me, Khajmel,” he said softly. Balin, Dori and Bilbo trailed off in their conversation and their attention turned towards her with concern.

Ruby swallowed hard and looked at Dwalin’s calloused palm. “I lied, you know,” she said, not lifting her gaze and feeling very ashamed. 

“About what?” She could feel Dwalin’s confusion as he tried to figure out her emotion.

“When I said to the Shirriff that I know both worlds,” she explained, her voice tight. “I lied when I said that.” They waited patiently for her to continue. “I know nothing, really. Nothing about either world. No more than the basics about Hobbits or about Khazad. And I guess I always kind of knew that. But I truly realize it only now. I’m an outsider to both races. No more than an oddity.”

_Tanner was right._

“I don’t think that is true, Amhâhul,” Dwalin protested sincerely, wriggling his fingers to entice her to put her hand in his. “Although I understand it may seem that way to you just now. And you are certainly not an oddity. There is nothing wrong with you, nothing at all.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, her voice bitter while she did her best to ignore Dwalin’s attempts to soothe her. “I was in the Shire but one time and that didn’t go too well once the Hobbits expressed their disdain about my hair, my ears, my feet, my wild ways and what they called my _obsession with rocks_. And the only Dwarrow I met were the ones that travelled through Bree, where I was only for a day or two every other month. Since they didn’t know I understand Khuzdul they didn’t hold back with their opinions about my mother travelling alone and about Halflings and their fury feet and bare chins. Due to my lack of beard it never even occurred to them that I have some Dwarrow blood in me and Adad had me hide my braid and put my hair up in a proper Hobbit bun. Other than that, I’ve only ever been with Mama and my Adad. Mama, who didn’t want to live amongst Hobbits, already before she met him. And Adad, who had much critical things to say about Khazad. And even though both tried to teach me all they know I still feel that I know very little. Half the things you guys just talked about make no sense to me at all.”

She sat quietly and rubbed her nose before finally giving in and placing her hand into Dwalin’s open palm.

“Ruby-,” Dwalin began, sounding a bit helpless, gently squeezing her fingers.

“No,” she interrupted him roughly, “It’s fine. It is the way it is and I’m not complaining. I just thought that maybe, since you and I ... because we ... and Balin ... and Bilbo and I ... the three of you are all I have now ... I wanted to tell you so that you know I will need help. And that maybe you teach me what I don’t know about the Khazad and the Hobbit ways? I don’t want to embarrass myself, nor any of you. I don’t want to bring shame to your families.”

Dwalin exhaled in a big whoosh and she could feel an odd mix of fondness, amusement and sincere worry through their bond. “Oh Amhâhul, you’ll not bring shame to anyone just because you don’t know a few customs here or there. And what you don’t know you’ll pick up quick enough, bright as you are. Besides, you are part of our families now, there is no such thing as _our family_ and _your family_.”

“Dwalin’s right. And from what my brother tells me, Ruby Makhdûna, you might have plenty knowledge that we are lacking,” Balin commented, sharing a meaningful look with his brother. “Because while I am considered a scholar amongst our people I have not ever heard of Dani Dubun’Ibin.”

“Who’s Dani Dubun’Ibin?” Bilbo wanted to know, curious.

“The One of Durin Deathless,” Dwalin said.

Dori’s and Bilbo’s eyes turned round.

“Ruby’s Adad taught her her Cirth with a book written by Író Zirizarrab, who, after the Queen died in childbirth, became the husband of Durin the Second, King of Khazad-Dûm and High King of all Dwarrow,” Dwalin summarized rather matter-of-factly. “Dani Dubun’Ibin’s story is in that book.” The tone of his voice implied heavily that there was something about Író that escaped Ruby’s knowledge.

Taking in their gob-smacked faces she sighed. “How do you not know this? I thought for sure this was common knowledge.” She turned her hand and curled her fingers into Dwalin’s palm. “Maybe it’s something only Longbeards know?” she mused. “Adad was Longbeard.” It would make sense, since all of Író’s stories had to do with Durin’s folk.

“As are we, lass,” Balin told her and Ruby’s mind whirled as she looked him over for visible signs on his clothing or in his hair and beard. “We’re dressing rather relaxed while in the Shire, as Hobbits don’t care about such things. Tell you what though,” the white-haired dwarf leaned over the table a little towards her, “You go with Dwalin and Dori and get Nori and his associate. Kirvi, was it? Once you’re all back here we’ll sit down together and have a good, long talk. Much needs saying, but finding Nori is a more pressing matter at present. And I promise you, lass, whatever teaching needs doing will happen, all in its own time. And Bilbo will help, too, I’ve no doubt.”

“You can count on it, Ruby,” her cousin said, very sincerely. “I am a bit of an oddity amongst Hobbits as well, so I understand exactly where you’re coming from. It’s maybe more a matter of carving out your own place instead of trying to fit in? But don’t worry. You are already doing much better than you give yourself credit for. You’ll be just fine.”

“It may seem at first glance that Hobbits and Dwarrow are different in major things,” Dori put in. “A Hobbit’s life circles around the comforts of home, a warm hearth and good food. And plenty of it. The weather and how it may affect a harvest are more important to most of them than the rate of Gondorian Silver to Shire Coppers. They rejoice in family and cooking and in their gardens. And while Khazad have a need to delve deep into the mountains and search for lodes of metal and gems they also love the comforts of home, a warm hearth, good food and family. In essence the two races are not so different, I think sometimes, that of all races of Middle Earth Hobbits and Dwarrow are most alike.”

Balin gave a thoughtful nod. “Aye, you’re right. Our urge to mine or discover and work our finds into things of beauty has been instilled into us by our Maker. It is the sad truth, however, that the influence of the voice of ore, gold and precious things oftentimes blinds us beyond reason. Then it becomes a burden to bear by a dwarf’s family or those closest around us. Hobbits are free from that vice. Their hearts are free from greed and falsehood.”

“Excluding Lobelia,” Bilbo muttered darkly, and the dwarves chuckled.

Remembering what her Adad had often said about Berylla Ruby nodded. “My Adad said much the same about Hobbits,” she said. “But I think each race has their own burden to bear. Khazad may love mining and creating excessively, not considering others, but so do Hobbits with their love for their gardens and the Shire, shutting themselves out from the rest of the world, to their detriment if the riches of Shire soil ever truly become known to the dark forces of Middle Earth. And Elves believe themselves superior because they are immortal, as if it is something they have somehow gained because of their knowledge and wisdom. When really, it has been given to them by Ilúvatar when He thought them into being in His music. And Men. Men love power more than knowledge. More than creating. More than family or a home. Even riches are important to them only insofar as they give them power.” Ruby felt herself speaking with passion as if she were in one of the spirited discussions with her parents. “No race is perfect, which is why we have to communicate well with each other and learn what we can to better ourselves.” Ruby had long held vast to that believe. Adad had always regarded her with the oddest look when she spoke in such a way. Maybe it was because she had never met an Elf and he thought it wrong of her to judge thusly. She certainly could vouch that what she said about Men was true for Tanner and his lot. Ruby took a deep breath and looked up ... and froze. Eight pairs of eyes were on her, staring at her in wonder.

Ruby felt herself blush. Again.

She ducked her head.

Bilbo chuckled, his eyes bright. “My, my, Ruby Makhdûna. I’ll have a hard time waiting for that talk we’re going to have once you’re all back. You are most spirited.”

“Indeed,” Balin thoughtfully stroked his long, white beard. “I’ve known Dwarrow running in diplomatic circles for two centuries and longer who wouldn’t be able to say anything half as wise as what you’ve just told us. You need not worry that you won’t fit in, lass. I can assure you that you’ll be quite a breath of fresh air.”

“Aye,” Dwalin added, “And my place is where you are, Amhâhul, so it’s not happening anymore that you’re alone in the world.” The warrior cut a pointed look at Dori.

Dori’s eyes narrowed momentarily but then he sighed and nodded. The dwarf looked at Ruby. “My brothers have outgrown my care, but I’ll be there for you whenever you need me, Ruby Makhdûna.”

Ruby could feel the corners of her mouth curl into a small smile. They were so kind to her. Despite still having her doubts she felt a little more optimistic. “Alright,” she whispered.

Dwalin squeezed her fingers again. “Alright.”

“You should get going,” Balin advised, gesturing at the window, where the dark of night slowly gave way to the dim greys before sunrise. “Day’s about to start.”

*

Dwalin took mere seconds to don heavy metal-capped boots and to strap on a leather harness that held two one-hand axes, rather simple in their design from what Ruby could see; both with a long haft and a broad blade and heavy at the head, decorated with geometric patterns interwoven with powerful combinations of runes for strength and bravery. Undoubtedly those axes had been hardened by the blood of countless enemies, testimony to the deadly skill of their wielder. Dwalin had chuckled as she watched him with open awe, looking pleased. Then he grabbed a war hammer that probably weighed more than her as if it was nothing, taken her hand and lead her out from Bag End (with plenty of well-wishes from Bilbo and Balin) and down the path and along fences and smials from which the first signs of life stirring could be heard. A rooster crowed in the distance, sheep baaed somewhere over the hill and Dori cursed when he stepped into the old remnants of a cow pad.

When they made it to the Green Dragon, Hobbiton’s very own version of a worldly Inn, a dozen Khazad soldiers were already waiting by the ponies, armoured, helmed and armed to the teeth. To Ruby’s surprise not a Hobbit was in sight.

 _Either they are scared or so used to these Dwarrow that they consider their warm beds more enticing than missing a spectacle_ , Ruby mused with some surprise.

The young red-haired dwarf, Gimli, was among the soldiers and gave her a little wave in greeting. He spoke briefly to Dwalin before hoisting himself up into the saddle of a prancing chestnut, carrying an axe with curved blades with ease in one hand, and also donning a helmet. The soldiers stood alert and attentive as Dwalin addressed them briefly and quietly. She could not hear what he said but their nods and glances towards her gave her a pretty good idea.

The dark-haired dwarf also was there.

Ruby had not anticipated that he would join them, considering he was so outraged with her presence the day prior and hadn’t shown his face in Bag End for breakfast. Yet, here he was, also wearing armour under a rather majestic looking dark blue coat with fur collar; his leather bracers were richly decorated with iron studs. The scabbard of a sword hung from his belt, revealing no more than one straight edge, the other first concave, then convex, ending in a deadly point, but still Ruby could sense that it was a powerful blade. She felt herself itching to touch it. This dwarf very obviously was not only someone of importance, but also one who had considerable wealth.

_I still don’t even know his name._

Casting a quick glance at Dwalin, Ruby steeled herself and took a deep breath, ready to walk over to make her apology, as she had promised. But before she could even take a step the dark-haired dwarf climbed on his pony and directed it out the gate and down the path, without even once looking at her or checking whether they were all ready to follow him. The soldiers immediately hurried after him, as did the young dwarf, Gimli.

Three ponies remained. Dori mounted one but held on to the reigns of another. 

“Come now, Amhâhul,” Dwalin said as he stood next to that pony and waved her to him, “Let me help you up.” Ruby thought he would just give her a boost and let out a surprised squeak when his mighty warrior hands settled firmly but gently on her hips and simply lifted her into the saddle. She barely had time to sort out her legs. The warrior chuckled and she felt his amusement bubble within his mind, an emotion so contrary to his fierce, battle hardened exterior that her insides ached with fondness for him. _He likes to laugh._ Ruby vowed then to make sure she would fill his life with plenty of laughter. Again, he seemed to guess at her thoughts because he gave her an affectionate look and a little wink.

He chuckled again when she blushed and mounted his own beast, but then he excused himself and made his way to the front of the troop.

Riding was not ... the greatest fun. While she didn’t really have to steer her pony as it followed the others and Dori stayed by her side she still had to try to stay in the saddle. The next while was spent with Dori giving her some pointers as to how to hold her back and how to roll her hips and how to hold the reigns. He was very good at giving instructions and when she commented on that he surprised her when he laughed and told her that ‘Bilbo had the same problems, but he got the hang of it pretty quickly’.

But when she gaped at him and asked how in Yavanna’s name _the_ Baggins of Bag End ever had need of a pony Dori’s face closed down like the blossoms of the pimpernel before rain, and the only response she could get out of him was that this story ‘was something Bilbo should tell her himself’.

It was not satisfactory but checking the prim dwarf’s stoic face Ruby knew a lost battle when she saw one.

They made it through the Shire rather quickly and Ruby was surprised when they made it to the Brandywine Bridge well before the sun reached its midday height. The stationed bounders immediately cleared their path, but Ruby felt plenty of eyes on her, most simply curious, but plenty very resentful, even angry. She sighed inwardly but held her head high.

After the bridge, the formation of their little troop changed; the soldiers suddenly spread out, some went to the back, a few stayed in a loose pattern on either side of her, effectively taking her in a productive circle. Dwalin left his position at the front, next to the raven-haired dwarf, a few times and came back to her. He always smiled at her and reached across for her hand as if to reassure himself she was well, but Ruby could sense his alertness and could see his eyes darting watchfully over the landscape to all sides. There also was a seriousness in him every time he looked at the grumpy dwarf at the front, who was joined by Gimli whenever Dwalin left his side.

The landscape to either side of the Great East Road slowly changed from the rich farmland of the Shire to sloping hills dotted with large, rocky boulders to the north, and the murky fog hanging over the distant Barrowdowns to the south. The rising sun shone in their eyes as they continued on without a break for hours. It was near halfway up the sky when Nori stepped out from the hedges to the side of the road. “Ain’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Ruby’s heart skipped a beat and she met his smile with a wide one of her own.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ruby. She’s on an emotional rollercoaster and self-doubt and anxiety get to her. Let’s see whether Nori can give her confidence a little boost. 
> 
> Khajmel – gift of all gifts  
> Amhâhul - amazing gem  
> Dani Dubun’Ibin – Dani Gentle Gem  
> the pimpernel, also called ‘shepherd’s weather glass’ closes its leaves before rain


	15. Reunion One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the sun hides in shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update = a little Sunday treat. Much love to all my lovely readers xx
> 
> For all those who are waiting in line to throttle Thorin: my guess is there won’t be a line but a mad rush to slap the fool silly after you read this chapter 😉 Kind of looking forward to outraged comments …

(Nori)

“I’ll not lie,” Nori muttered as he changed the make-shift bandage on Kirvi’s abdomen. “It’s not looking too flashy. But we’re only another two days away.”

“Don’t worry about me,” the smith said, putting on a brave face, but his features were drawn with pain and exhaustion. “I told you before: you should go ahead and send help once you’re there. We still don’t know if the lassie made it in one piece. And she’s more important than me.” He grasped Nori’s hand. “I’m serious, Nori,” he rasped, “Go and leave me be.”

Nori firmly shook his head. “Not going to happen. There’s been wolves howling around us last night. Once I’ll leave you, they might not stay back and you’re too weak to hide up in a tree for days on end. How do you expect me to look into your Zunshel’s eyes and tell her I left you to the wolves, literally? Not going to happen. So no, I will be going nowhere. With a bit of luck we’ll reach the Shire by nightfall tomorrow. Together.” He got to his feet and slung Kirvi’s arm over his shoulder, carefully helping him up, taking most of the younger dwarf’s weight. “And don’t you worry about the lassie. She’s a tenacious one. Stubborn, strong and resourceful. She will have made it. With a bit of luck, they’re coming for us.”

There was no need to point out that Nori did hope for quite a substantial portion of luck, nor did he say that he was rather certain Ruby had inherited those traits from both sides of her family, and two races at that, because even though he was fairly certain he was right about her he couldn’t be completely sure, of course. If he were wrong, well, he could claim a temporary loss of his faculties after the beating he got from Tanner’s lackies. Because, really, it was an outrageous thought ... the long-lost aunt of Bilbo Baggins and the long-believed to be lost former King. And if Nori was right but Ruby hadn’t made it to Hobbiton and to Thorin, well, Nori would not be looking forward explaining to his King what happened to his half-sister and his Consort’s cousin and that it had been him sending her into the wilds largely unarmed and without proper protection.

As it were, he could only hope she shared her sense of direction with Dís, not Thorin, otherwise she’d be ending up in Rohan, not the Shire, and what fun rescue that would be.

But now they had to actually make it to the Shire themselves, him and Kirvi, who’s complexion turned pastier as the day went on. They had been fortunate in managing to grab two horses at Tanner’s compound before they bolted from the burning structure. One was missing large bits of fur and had been in agony; it didn’t make it through the night, poor thing, but it did carry Nori well for a while. He shared the other horse with Kirvi then, which became increasingly more difficult thanks to Kirvi’s injury; Dwarrow just didn’t have the legs for horses and while it had made their escape fast paced, it also was physically challenging to balance on the tall beast without a saddle or tack. They let the horse go in the morning when the wolves came too close to Nori’s liking, in the hopes the horse was enough to entice them to seek it as a tasty meal and leave the two of them alone. It seemed to have worked, but it also slowed them down substantially, even though they cut across the countryside much better on their own.

It had been a mess to get away from Tanner’s compound.

Not unexpected, but unpleasant all the same. Nori knew a thing or two about getting out of a tight spot, and that compound, surrounded by a fifteen-foot palisade wall was posting its own, unique challenge. The only good thing about it was that the Men were largely busy guarding the front door, wholly not anticipating that anybody would choose the back door to make a getaway. Or better: they were wholly not anticipating that anybody would blow their own backdoor to make a getaway.

Nori’s boots cost a small fortune and he had happily paid that price even at a time when he did not own a fourteenth of Erebor’s treasure, because thanks to their double sole and the triple lining there was ample space to hide a thing or two or five. Explosives were not something he used to carry with him but a tenure at a Mannish prison some years back had convinced him of the necessity. Having been locked up with a very shrewd dwarf from the Orocarni. who accrued extensive travel experiences in the Harad. Nori learned a valuable lessons regarding explosives. While explosives were something all Dwarrow were somewhat familiar with, certainly those that worked in mining or weaponry, carrying them around on your body was not something many would be comfortable doing, and neither would Nori have. Not until he learned how to mix various powders with sticky sap from certain trees – and wasn’t that stuff harder to come by than the Arkenstone back in the day – but once one had the kneadable substances they were pretty indestructible.

Until worked together.

Which is what Nori did, in Tanner’s compound. He stuck the blobs of goo on the tree trunks that made the palisade wall and used the next couple of minutes to arm himself and help Kirvi set the forge up for a brief defense. Then – boom – the wall had a whole, Ruby came running and the Men were rallying. Nori had been glad the dogs had been taken care off, because there would have been no way they could have managed with those beasts in the mix. Curly nearly had a hand on Ruby as she ran and Nori had been pleased when he nicked the man’s neck with a particularly well thrown blade. _That’s what you get for wearing such a shitty breastplate and being such an arse_ , Nori had thought, rather childishly maybe, but it had been one of his more satisfying kills. Iffan, of course, had barked commands and came at them with the more efficient fighters of the group. With their bigger statue and the longer reach of their arms their swords were dangerous if they came close to them so they pulled down the roof of the forge, as planned, and kicked the buckets of hot ash in their faces, also as planned. Burning logs and glowing hot metal rods were a good defense and when thrown on the thatched roofs helped setting several spots in the compound alight.

It had gotten pretty chaotic for a while, and it had been Kirvi who brought Iffan down, but not without getting nicked in the process. Before they fled Nori had made sure to help the dying and the fire along, and they had not even reached the other end of the clearing when the flames reached high in the sky and the compound was barely visible from the thick smoke.

They didn’t stop right away, [making their escape through the woods, heading straight West](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/fd/cb/3e/fdcb3eb9efc1eabc3c8ffad68014123c.jpg). When they left the tree line Nori recognized the area as indeed south of Bree, closer to the Lone Lands than to the village called Staddle. They crossed the Greenway and spent their first night huddled under some thick shrubbery. The howling of wolves was an unnecessary complication and Nori could have done without.

As it was unwise to stay on the road and the wide, grassy expanse made it easy enough to get through the landscape. They made it to the crossroads of the Greenway and the Great East Road unseen, Nori constantly having one eye and one ear towards their back, when Kirvi’s condition really did a turn for the worse. Nori had no intention getting anywhere near the Barrowdowns or the Old Forest and led the injured smith well into the Southern Bree-fields. There were few trees but constant shrubbery and the hilly landscape would make any pursuit a pain in the arse – not that the getting away was any less so, but Nori deemed it safer as it would be the path most people would _not_ choose. They spent their second night between a hawthorn bush and a … Nori wasn’t sure. He had learned a lot about green things and everything that grows over the years since he knew Bilbo, but he didn’t know this one. Which was unfortunate as it had several clusters of red berries which would have made for a nice snack. Considering they had made their escape wholly without provisions. Ah well. Nori might have learned enough to safely identify a fair number of edible things but he also knew that berries well out of season that neither birds nor other critters had eaten likely weren’t the sort that would make a dwarf’s stomach happy either.

They had no water and Kirvi’s already bad condition had worsened considerably when the sun rose on the third morning since their escape. A healthy traveler would reach Brandywine Bridge by nightfall. Nori, supporting most of Kirvi’s weight, probably would not.

_Not ideal. Not at all ideal._

The landscape either side of the Great East Road from Bree to the Brandywine Bridge was dense with mature trees and thick bushes. On his own Nori would have managed to weave his way through, but with Kirvi, it was impossible. The smith was sweating profusely, and his scent had changed to something sour, making it clear that infection had set in. Nori cursed long and creatively inside his head. When they reached a long stretch of the road, making it nice and visible in both directions and impossible for anyone to sneak up on them Nori said: “Let’s take a break.” Without waiting for Kirvi’s response he led the smith off the road and into a cluster of dense bushes, where he lay him down carefully. The circumstances of their escape from Tanner’s compound had not been allowing for provisions of any kind to be taken, therefore they were both literally with only the clothes on their back, plus a stack of weapons from the chest in the forge. No blankets, no rations and no water. The first was no problem, the second they had managed to remedy with some foraging on the way - Nori was grateful for Bilbo’s teachings in that regard - but the lack of water was becoming a serious issue, especially for Kirvi and the state he was in.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he mumbled as he lay the back of his hand on the smith’s hot forehead. Kirvi gave him a grim smile. “Told you,” he mumbled in a slur, “Leave me.”

Nori sighed. He was just trying to estimate how quickly he could make it to the Shire on his own and return with help when his ears pricked up at the sound of hooves.

 _That’s what I need,_ Nori thought, _Tanner has caught up with us. Or it’s brigands who have a death wish and think the Rangers are indeed just a ragtag bunch of rugged forest dwellers._ He shook his head at himself. _Always so negative! It also could be a bunch of adventurous Brandybucks on their way to Bree for the weekend. Or Dwarrow, merchants or tinkers, on their usual route from Ered Luin through the Shire and then South._

Patting Kirvi’s arm encouragingly Nori moved to peek through the leaves towards the group of ponies coming up from the direction of the Brandywine Bridge, preparing himself for the worst - because that’s just how he rolled. But shiny armour and a shiny bald head told him who came their way. He would never admit it out loud to anybody that he was relieved to see the big guardsman, but the heavy stones that had begun to lay deep in his gut went away in one thankful puff. Stepping out from the bushes Nori smiled at the sight of the lass on a pony. “Ain’t that a sight for sore eyes.”

She wore clothes that very much looked as if they had been Bilbo’s a few years back, her black hair neatly woven back into her customary two thick plaits ... but wasn’t that a bead visible in one of them? Before Nori could get a better look the lass had scrambled out of the saddle most ungraciously - Dori keeping a tight hold on her reigns - and threw herself in his arms with a shriek. “Nori!”

He laughed and spun her around, taking note of the guardsman’s unhappy frown with mild surprise. “Hey, lassie! It’s good to see you save and sound.” He gently put her on her feet and she bounced to Kirvi who slowly stepped out from the bushes, the relief of seeing her obviously having given him a brief boost of strength. The smith grinned at Ruby and then sank onto the ground with a pained grunt. “Kirvi, you’re hurt!” Immediately she fell to her knees and took the smith’s hand.

“I’m quite alright, lassie, do not worry about me. Nori fixed me up as good as it’s possible in the middle of nowhere and now all I need is some rest and a decent ale to dull the pain and I’ll be right as rain.”

In the meanwhile, Dori also had dismounted and did not waste any time to grab Nori’s shoulders and smash their foreheads together. “Easy there, Nadad,” Nori chuckled, not sure how to handle so much brotherly love.

“You better be glad you’re well, Naddith, otherwise I would have given you a good earful, you hear me.” Dori tried to speak brusquely, but Nori could hear his relief.

“No need to strain your breeches, Nadad, you know me, I always have a way out,” he grinned at Ruby, “And the lassie here did half the work, so you better thank her.”

Ruby gave another pat to Kirvi’s hand and then left him in the care of the warriors, who by now had dismounted as well and secured a parameter, some were racking up the ponies and joined Dori and young Gimli seeing to Kirvi. Ruby sidled up to Nori. “You ... you ... the compound ...” The lass worried her hands and her eyes beseeched him to give her good news.

He could do that. “None of those kanubnul nor their dogs can do harm anymore, lassie. The compound is all but burned to the ground.”

She swallowed hard. “You ... you killed them all?”

Nodding firmly he confirmed it. “Aye, Ruby, they’ve put up a bit of a fight, which is why Kirvi’s got a bit of a nick, but him and I got the upper hand in the end. Those nifty little knives I showed you came in quite handy. And the whole place was well alight when we left. All good.”

He barely managed to square his feet before she barreled into him, hugging him fiercely around the middle. Patting her back he looked up at Dwalin’s dark face. True, Dwalin had often looked at him with a similar expression, but still ... “Guardsman. Not happy to see me?”

Ruby stiffened a little at his words and stepped back, blushing, which was a bit odd. _What is going on?_

“Very happy to see you, uthrab,” Dwalin said and actually sounded like he meant it. Then his face softened, and he put an arm around Ruby’s shoulders. “Just should inform you about a development you’re not quite aware of yet.” Ruby snuggled into the warrior’s side and looked up at him with a smile.

Nori couldn’t stop his eyebrows from climbing into his hairline.

“The lassie and I are each other’s One. She’s recognized me as soon as she lay eyes on me. Turns out we’re also sharing a Blessed Bond. So know that I am grateful you took care of her and got her away from that place safely.”

Nori was speechless. It wasn’t something that had ever happened and he would deny it to his dying days that he stood there and goggled like a loon. Then he threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Oh, Mahal, that is just the best. The lassie and the guardsman.” He laughed until he had to wipe the tears from his eyes. Then he bowed. “Well, congratulations to you both. I am pleased as punch. It’ll be quite the celebrations, in the Shire and back home, I’m sure.”

Dwalin looked mighty pleased and gazed down at his Ruby with pride and unhindered adoration. _Bless my beard._

And the lassie blushed prettily and blinked her blue eyes at her warrior. It was a story for all the romantics, that’s for sure. Ori’s beard was going to spring into curls with envy for not being a first-hand witness, Nori silently laughed to himself. Then his eyes fell on Ruby’s bead that was clasp into a tiny daughter’s braid and tied to one of her thick plaits, held together by an assortment of her many frayed ribbons.

The light rune signifying of Thráin, son of Thrór, was clearly visible against the dark wood.

_Well, that certainly leaves no doubt._

He turned and his eyes found Thorin. The King inclined his head at him and Nori threw a glance at Dwalin, who let go of the lass, and Dori, who immediately grabbed her elbow and steered her back to Kirvi, who now had Gimli fussing over his injury.

Nori stepped closer to the King to give a brief report at least, Dwalin at his back. He could give a full one later, when there were no witnesses. And Nori still wasn’t sure yet how things had gone at the revelation of Ruby’s parenthood.

 _Better be cautious_.

“My King,” he said quietly, “As planned I managed to infiltrate the group we were after. It took quite a few weeks longer than expected for them to pick up on the bait but when they did they did hit hard, as expected. Kirvi and I were taken captive. They handled us pretty roughly but didn’t mean for us to go dead. We were taken to a place somewhere near the Forsaken Inn, but very secluded. Several buildings within a fifteen-foot palisade wall. About twelve men and two good handful dogs. Awfully hard place to escape by day and by night we were locked up in a cell underground. It’s all run by a man called Tanner, thankfully he wasn’t home at the time we were brought in. Turned out we were to work in their forge, to make whatever they demanded of us. The lassie was kept in that compound, too. She’d been there for ten years she says, witnessing a lot of bad things in there, seeing a lot of Dwarrow smiths brought in against their will, to work for that Tanner.” Nori paused to take a breath and was trying to sort his words before he continued but Thorin interrupted him. “What about the maker’s mark?”

Nori hesitated, a bit confused.

The King raised his eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Are you aware who she is?” Because Thráin’s daughter certainly had a right to have Thráin’s maker’s mark, and as far as Nori was concerned, even if she weren’t Thráin’s Nâtha, the lass had had no choice where it came to Tanner and his Men abusing its meaning.

Thorin’s face contorted into an angry grimace. “You mean am I aware who she _pretends to be_?”

Dwalin groaned and shook his head, fixing his King with a steely glare.

Nori frowned. _Right_. _Not going well_. _At all._

“My father’s maker’s mark?” Thorin demanded to know, impatiently.

Nori braced himself. “Turns out it’s on a tight chain around the lassie’s neck,” he informed them, throwing a stunned looking Dwalin a quick glance. “She was ordered to the forge every afternoon to present it and have the smith mark whatever goods he forged that day.”

The King clenched his teeth so hard that Nori was sure he heard a crack. “So she’s an imposter _and_ a thief.” His tone was bitter and hateful.

Shaking his head Nori set his chin. “Thorin, seeing how she was forced to live there and how she was treated, the hell she had to endure daily, I’d say she’s had no choice. Besides-“

“He’s the King?” a breathless voice squeaked behind him at that moment. Turning around Nori witnessed a pale Kirvi swat a weak hand at Gimli and an exasperated Dori roll his eyes at the young dwarf, who looked thoroughly abashed.

The lassie though looked thoroughly shocked.

She didn’t know? _How does she not know?_ Nori looked at Thorin, and from Thorin to Dwalin. “You didn’t tell her?” he asked incredulously, not necessarily meaning the both of them but also Balin and Bilbo and even Dori ... Nobody told her that Thorin was a King? Did that mean they also didn’t tell her they shared a father, who had been a King himself? Nori wanted to facepalm.

_Idiots!_

The lass slowly got to her feet from where she had been kneeling next to Kirvi and nervously wiped her hands on her dark green coat, much like Bilbo used to do at the beginning of the quest. Ruby looked at her boots for a heartbeat or two and swallowed hard. Then she slowly turned toward Thorin and walked over, moving before him. _Oh, she’s a gutsy lass._ Nori didn’t know what exactly had happened in Hobbiton, but he was certain it would have been quite a commotion when Ruby burst into the settled life of Bag End. Whatever had happened it was rather clear that Thorin hadn’t taken to her. At all.

On the contrary.

Which was a shame, really.

No matter what happened, however, she seemed determined to bridge their distance, move past whatever occurred in Hobbiton and extend a hand, certainly figuratively speaking, possibly literally as well. Nori could not help but admire her a great deal in that moment.

As did the guardsman, judging by the ridiculously soppy look on his face.

When the lass was right in front of Thorin she took a deep breath and lifted her head to look up at him, her expression completely open and honest. “Please accept my humble apologies, your Majesty, for my disrespectful and outrageous behaviour. It was unbecoming and I am deeply embarrassed by my conduct. It is not good enough to say I didn’t know who you were - because nobody bothered to tell me -“ she added in a mumble, making Dwalin wince at the stab that was clearly meant for him. “I was rude, and completely out of line.”

“It is no matter,” Thorin responded, wearing a thin smile, but his expression was so cold and haughty that Nori’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. _How can he not be moved?_ “Let’s not mention it anymore.” Then the King stooped a little and told her quietly. “Although if you do it again, I will personally remove your head from your shoulders.”

Dwalin growled and a muscle twitched in the warrior’s cheek and even though Nori schooled his expression much better he agreed with the warrior’s sentiment. _What a threat to make at the lass, after everything she’s been through? And what has she done to have him seething so?_

Ruby’s face turned red, from anger or embarrassment Nori couldn’t say, and for a moment her spine straightened and her chin hardened (yep, that’s the Durin temper), but then her shoulders sagged again and her face turned blank, her body language yielding and submissive just like it had been at Tanner’s compound. Ruby nodded, looking at her boots once more. “Yes, you are right, your Majesty. It won’t happen again. I know that my parents would be terribly ashamed of me. Please know that I will not disgrace their memory like that ever again.” She bobbed on her heels for a moment before lifting her head and giving the King a hopeful, hesitant smile. “We should start over, your Majesty.” She curtsied. “My name is Ruby, at your service.” And she bowed from the waist, as was proper. She was so earnest in her attempt to please, so determined to do the right thing; it was rather adorable.

Thorin’s face split into a grin, but it was not a friendly one and Nori’s heart sank. He returned the bow in a mocking way. “Very well. I am Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, and I am certainly _not_ at your service.” His voice had turned low and was vibrating with badly suppressed fury.

Her shocked gasp was like a knife to Nori’s gut and he watched as all colour drained from her face and her eyes widened at that revelation. Nori could firmly see how the dots connected in her head. _She’s got a quick mind, that’s for sure_. “Son of Thráin ... but ... he ... Adad ... _a King?_ ” She blinked rapidly. “... And then .... you ... then we are-”

“ _We_ are nothing,” Thorin interrupted in a hiss, his loathing burning hot and red, making her flinch. “ _I_ am the King of Durin’s folk, just like my father and grandfather before me. A long line of proud sons of Durin. And you are an imposter and a liar and, according to Nori, a thief.” Thorin’s eyes momentarily set on the thin braid at the front of her thick pleat, and the tiny bead that held it together before glaring at Ruby with so much hatred, it sent a chill down Nori’s spine. Standing closer, he could see now that Ruby’s tiny braid was a daughter’s braid, and while he still couldn’t quite make out the bead, he could guess whose name would be on it.

The lassies eyes were growing even bigger and more wounded at Thorin’s words, and she cut him a deeply hurt look.

Nori shook his head and pointedly stepped in front of the King. “Hey now, respectfully, that’s not-“ he began but the King gave him a hard shove into the chest that propelled him out of the way and it was all Nori could do not do react on instinct and flick a knife into his hand to defend himself. The proud son of Durin stalked forward towards the lassie like a predator, hatred in his face. “Remove your braid and give me the maker’s mark,” he ordered with steel in his voice as he held out his hand. “Give it to me now or I’ll strip you where you stand and take it by force!”

She squeaked and recoiled in fright, tripping over her booted feet and falling on her backside.

“Thorin!” Dwalin’s hand was on the King’s arm, but the King continued forward until he loomed over the terrified lassie like a beast. “Give it to me now!” he bellowed, reaching for his sword, only to be shoved back harshly, Dwalin stepping into his path.

“You will mind your words and your actions,” the warrior warned, face thunderous, hand on Grasper’s handle. Suddenly tension hung heavy in the midday air. The soldiers stood, dumbstruck and unsure of what to do. Nori saw both Dori and Gimli frown and move towards Ruby. The situation was rapidly escalating.

“Get out of my way this instant, shumr, or you’ll regret it,” Thorin growled through gnashed teeth.

“You need to calm yourself,” Dwalin said, not budging. There was granite in his deep voice, and rising anger.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to calm myself,” he hissed, as good as nose to nose with the guardsman, his best friend. “I want to rip her to pieces for spreading such lies about _my_ father. I want her to give me what’s _mine by rights_. And if she does so this instant, I might yet let her live.” The King smiled but it was a mean and malicious one.

The poor lassie scrambled back on her feet and now stood, folding in on herself just like she had done at Tanner’s compound, head bowed and trying her best at being invisible. Nori took her hand and tugged, trying to get her out of the way before weapons were drawn. But she recoiled from his grip in fear and wrapped her arms around herself, pale and trembling. _She doesn’t trust me anymore._ He cursed viciously in his head.

“Ach, Thorin, are you even listening to yourself?” Dwalin shook his head and squared his shoulders. “Tell me: is it the slap that bothers you, or the words she spoke?”

 _Slap? She slapped the King?_ Nori ran a hand over his face. _Fan-fucking-tastic._

Thorin raged. “You speak to your King!”

“I would never speak to my King in such a way!” Dwalin bellowed back, big hands balled to fists and powerful body coiled, “I am loyal to my King, because he is good and just and he is the rightful leader of our people. My King would never speak so callous and act so dishonourably.”

“You dare-“ [Orcrist](https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Orcrist) left its sheath in one swift motion.

Nori’s hands flew to the axe at his belt and the throwing knife in his sleeve. If need be he’d ... _what?_

“I dare!” The guardsman didn’t budge but leaned forward even more that his broad chest was right in Thorin’s space, muscly arms flexing in an attempt to reign in his ire. “I am speaking to my childhood friend, who is in dire need of a whooping. How dare you speak to my One like that? How dare you threaten her?” Dwalin roared and his body shook with anger.

The lassie whimpered a pained sound and clapped her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut in fear, just as the sun hid behind fluffy clouds in shame of having to witness this sad spectacle.

The two mighty dwarf’s pushed shoulder to shoulder and Nori held his breath as he suddenly had no doubt that it would come to violent blows.

But then Dori was there – _fuck, Dori what are you doing_ \- shoving himself between the angry dwarves with his bulk and separating them with strong arms. “That’s quite enough, you two,” he barked at them, holding them apart by their lapels. “Kirvi needs a healer right now. And you two need to calm down.” Dori relentlessly kept them apart as they continued to eye each other over his head. Dwalin was yet to draw a weapon, but Thorin’s fingers flexed around Orcrist’s hilt as if he was attempting to crush the dragon’s tooth it was made of by the Elven Mastersmiths of old.

“Mount up,” Dori barked over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the arguing dwarves, “Gimli, you’ll need to share a pony with Kirvi to hold him up. Let’s go. Now!” Dori glared at Thorin, who did not meet his eyes but finally sheathed his sword with a sneer before mounting his pony and riding away without sparing a glance at the rest of them.

Dwalin breathed deeply and clenched and unclenched his fists a few times before rolling his tense shoulders, trying to relax them. Then he turned and his eyes found Ruby. Pity, worry, sorrow and confusion ghosted over his face and he cautiously walked towards her. “Amhâhul?” he asked softly, reaching out for her. She gave no inclination that she had heard him, her eyes continued to look at a nondescript spot in the distance. It was clear to Nori that after all that had happened in the last few days the altercation between what she now knew was a King and her _half-brother_ and the One she only found the day prior would have been the last straw. That and the revelation that her own _Adad_ had been a King as well.

_Which she did not know._

Nori sighed. The guardsman would have to put out all the stops to get her to look at him now. He certainly did try. Dwalin gently pulled her against his broad chest and ran his hands soothingly over her back, he whispered into her ear and kissed her forehead. But she stood stock still and stiff with her shoulders hunched and did not react to anything he did; he might just as well have caressed a log.

“Ruby,” he said, cupping her cheek gently, trying to get her to look at him. “Ruby, please,” his voice faltered. “I didn’t-“

“I’ll take it from here, Dwalin,” Dori interrupted firmly and put an arm around the lassie.

Dwalin frowned at him. “Dori, I can well take care of my-“

“I think you did well enough for now, wouldn’t you agree?” Dori interrupted coldly, glaring at the warrior. He did not wait for a response but steered the lass towards his pony and lifted her up, climbing into the saddle behind her without further ado and steering his mount back on the road towards the Shire.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear … Why am I finding it so easy to write Thorin flying off the handle? 
> 
> Again, I have linked the map that I’m using in the text. All credit to www.lotrointerface.com.  
> Obviously I’m going on a bit of a tangent with my lesson in explosives making; consider it Chemistry Middle Earth-style 😉  
> I’ve also put a link to Orcrist in the text. It does indeed have a dragon’s tooth as the hilt. 
> 
> Zunshel – bird of all birds = girlfriend  
> Uthrab - thief  
> kanubnul – mutts/mongrels  
> Nâtha - daughter  
> shumr – guard (in this case and directed at Dwalin it’s an insult)  
> Amhâhul - amazing gem


	16. Shutdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori attempts to counsel

(Nori)

The ride back to the Shire was anything but pleasant, and not only because they set a somewhat harried pace in light of Kirvi’s need for a healer. Thorin had stormed ahead but obviously lost his way because he met up with them again just before the Brandywine Bridge; on any other day the King’s dismal sense of direction above ground would have been amusing.

When the lot of them finally rode into the yard of the Green Dragon on stumbling ponies the sun was beginning to set. Nori had noticed that the Hobbits they passed on their way to Hobbiton and those that came running to assist with their exhausted mounts eyed them curiously and somewhat warily, especially the lassie. He concluded that they knew of her heritage. Ruby, however, had not looked up nor said a word - not like any of their troop had, really - and still sat in the saddle before Dori, white as a sheet and silent as a tomb. At first Dwalin had continued to attempt to coax her to look at him, to say something, anything, but after a few hours he gave up. Nori watched with disbelief how the sturdy warrior crumbled like Bilbo’s toffee brittle. 

Nori did not like that the lassie had retracted into herself, just as she had done in Tanner’s compound. It was not right. Had not been right there, but was probably necessary, a means of safeguarding her sanity. It was not, _should not_ be necessary here. Not now that she was safe, was with her family, was with her One. She should be able to be herself, free of fear of torture. _Free of fear for her life._ Having seen how Tanner’s lackeys had treated her Nori could honestly say that her strength and adaptability to survive ten long years of that misery filled him with amazement. And pride. For she was a dam, a lass of his kin, and Nori would not be a proper dwarf if he did not feel thoroughly possessive and protective of a dwarrowdam, even if strictly speaking she was only half that by blood.

Nori still did not know what exactly had happened when Ruby made it to the Shire and how her arrival at Bag End had gone over with the residents there. Remembering Dwalin’s words he was aware that she recognized Dwalin as her One and slapped Thorin. _But what else?_ He would have to keep his ears open and question a few people to be in the loop again. Dori was in protective mode, that much was clear, but that could be because he found Thorin’s behaviour appalling, not necessarily because he disagreed with the essence of it: that Ruby lied about who she was and somehow had stolen Thráin’s maker’s mark. Gimli’s eyes kept darting between Dwalin and Ruby and there was obviously a whole lot of stuff going on in the lad’s head. The young dwarf knew better than most what it was like for a pair to be bonded in such a way, considering he had ample chance to observe his own parents for all his life. The soldiers were quiet and grim, refraining even from whispering amongst each other. No doubt they would change their tune later, when amongst themselves and Nori very much meant to be there to listen in on their conversation. The heavy glances they shot towards Thorin, Dwalin and Ruby, however, showed they were aware of who she was and what was going on, having a whole lot of mixed emotions about it.

Nori sighed. _What a mess!_ There he had thought he’d get to have a bath, a meal and a good, long rest once he made it to the Shire, before discussing the ramification of his discoveries at Tanner’s compound with his King and his immediate present council. _Don’t look likely now_ , Nori mused, gaze darting over Thorin, whose loathing towards the lassie burned hot, the anger visible in his every move, every tensing in his shoulders, every clenching of his fists around his reigns.

A lookout obviously had informed the residents of Bag End of their coming because both Balin and Bilbo were waiting for them at the yard of the Green Dragon. Bilbo’s face showed relief once he counted heads. He gave Nori a small smile when their eyes met, and Nori respectfully bowed his head to the Royal Consort.

“It’s good you’re all back safe and sound,” the Hobbit spoke to the group at large, “And much quicker than we thought likely.” His eyes narrowed as they fell on Kirvi, who hung limply in Gimli’s arms, pale and with his eyes half closed, obviously unwell and in pain. Turning to a young Hobbit Bilbo sent the lad off to fetch the healer. Then the Consort took in Ruby, who rode with Dori, and Dwalin, who was pale and looked stricken. A deep furrow appeared between Bilbo’s brows. Focusing his attention on his husband he stepped closer as Thorin dismounted. The King’s face was stony as he let his blue gaze travel over the group until it set on Ruby. His blue eyes bore into the lass, his look very obviously terrifying her to the bone, making her tremble and hunching in herself even more. Dwalin growled again low in his chest in response and Dori puffed up his chest, leading the pony sideways a bit so he was positioned between the lass and the King’s glare.

Bilbo’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Thorin? Yesthar?” There was a whole lot of conversation in those two words and the tone of his voice. It sounded pleading, warning, hopeful, desperate, exasperated and disbelieving, all at once. Ruby’s head jerked up at Bilbo’s mention of ‘yesthar’, face showing shock and disbelief for the briefest moment before all the emotions were tucked away again and her expressions closed off.

 _So she didn’t know Bilbo and Thorin are married either._ Nori sighed and barely suppressed to roll his eyes. Had nobody told the lass anything?

The King completely ignored Bilbo, turning the other way and storming past them all, out of the yard, without a word.

Bilbo sighed and looked at the ground, dismay and hurt on his face, before steeling himself, his shoulders straightening and his chin setting. Ever since the drama with the Arkenstone there had not really been any overly dramatic disagreements between the royal spouses. Bilbo Baggins knew well how to steer his husband away from any surly moods and keeping him on a straight road when it came to the dealings of the kingdom and their private lives. Now, Bilbo resolutely walked up to Gimli and instructed the soldiers to assist the young dwarf to lead the injured Kirvi inside and the mingling Hobbits to see to the ponies. Then Bilbo went to Dori. Dori, who was already dismounting, reaching up to help Ruby down. A few low words were exchanged in a mutter between them and Bilbo gave the lass an encouraging pat on the back. From which she recoiled as if struck. Bilbo momentarily visibly deflated, before rousing himself once more and wordlessly joining those going inside the Inn. Dori’s lips were pressed together and he met his brother’s eyes briefly, looking grim. He coaxed Ruby out the yard and towards Bag End.

Nori sighed. He knew in his brother’s keeping the lass would be well taken care of. As he himself dismounted he took note of Balin. The old dwarf’s clever eyes obviously had observed and taken in everything, his eyebrows drawing together in concern as he scrutinized everyone’s expressions and body language. As Thorin stomped off down the lane and Dori lead a Ruby that completely ignored Dwalin towards Bag End Balin took in Kirvi, who’d been assisted inside the Green Dragon by Gimli and two soldiers. His wise old eyes settled on Nori and he gave him a nod in greeting, his sharp gaze rapidly travelling up and down his person to assess his status, coming to the right conclusion that Nori was fine, before fixing on his little brother. Dwalin still stood where he had dismounted, next to his pony, pale and with a confused and hurt expression on his face, no matter how he tried to bury it under his usual gruffness.

With a determined expression Balin approached the warrior and lead him inside the Green Dragon with a firm hand on his elbow, shooting Nori a pointed look that made it clear he expected an explanation, sooner rather than later. With no other option Nori followed after the Royal Councilor as the dwarf steered his unresisting younger brother through the still empty guest room, up the stairs and into a room at the end of the same corridor where all the Dwarrow had been settled.

Nori resolved to wait in said corridor, leaning against the smooth wooden wall and folding his arms before his chest.

It did not take long before Balin emerged again, stepping out of the room at the same time as Bilbo did a few doors down. They looked from one to the other for a moment, warily, before Bilbo waved a hand and they followed him to the end of the corridor and down another one, entering a room at the end. The sparse furniture in the room was covered with white sheets; the space obviously not available to be let out to guests at the moment. It was poorly lit, the waning light from the sun shining in through the window not providing much visibility anymore.

“What has happened?” Balin wanted to know just as the door fell shut behind Nori, not wasting any time to get to the bottom of things. “What have you told the King?” Balin’s question was laced with resentment. “What have you told him that he could treat the lass with even more disdain than before?”

Nori could have bristled at the blatant accusation that this situation was somehow his fault. “Begging your pardon,” he responded icily instead, “But I’ve not told the King anything that could possibly warrant such a behaviour. On the contrary. I’ve made a point to tell him she was badly treated by those Men that held her captive, even if he didn’t let me explain how badly exactly. The torment she has endured daily at their hands for the past ten years cannot be underestimated. She scrubbed the place, washed their clothes, boiled their linens, grew their food, took care of their chickens, cooked their meals, fed their damned dogs and was their personal slave in all aspects but the most heinous one. That at least she has been spared from.” It was true, and it had to be said: were Ruby a girl from Mannish parents Tanner’s lackeys would have taken more from her than just her freedom.

Balin, who had listened to Nori’s explanation with an expression turning from flinty to dismayed, looked both stricken and relieved at his last sentence. Bilbo’s body tensed and he looked up with a start at Nori’s words.

Balin sighed deeply, folding his hands over his white pronged beard. “My Naddith and Ruby Makhdûna have a deep connection. One that is enormously profound. They share a Blessed Bond, like Író Zirizarrab has described in his writings.” He faltered for a moment and added: “And very likely gained thanks to his husband’s knowledge of his previous long life and his brief time in Itdendûm.”

Nori frowned. He had read Ori’s ‘discovery’ and heard all about it from his enthusiastic younger brother, more than he could care about it in fact, but he couldn’t quite place these news. “His husband?” _And wait._ “Makhdûna?”

“Aye, Ruby Makhdûna was named by her Adad. And it appears Író Zirizarrab was the husband of Durin II. Essentially Royal Consort of Khazad-Dûm. Durin had a wife, we know she bore him several pebbles and lost the battle for life at the birth of the last one. We did not know about Durin’s husband.”

Nori cocked his head, thinking the information over. There was only one person who could have told them that. “Ruby told you this?”

Balin nodded. “Aye, she did. The lass seems to have knowledge about Durin’s line we do not. And Thráin has named her. One more reason to make sure she is on speaking terms with us again sooner than later. Which is why I ask again: what has happened?”

With a sigh Nori resolved to give a report that would give straight facts with no embellishments: “He pulled his sword on her.” It wasn’t necessary to clarify who ‘he’ was. Bilbo made a choked sound and covered his mouth as if he were about to be sick. “Tried to take the maker’s mark, which hangs at a chain around her neck, from her by force. Threatened her life. Dwalin stepped between them.”

“Mahal!” Balin paled and looked as if he wanted to sink on a chair, only to realize that they, too, were covered by white sheets, and heavily leaned against the wall instead. “Dwalin says he can’t feel her anymore,” the old dwarf told them in a whisper. “It’s like she’s gone from his mind. I don’t understand.” Balin shook his head in dismay. “Has the bond broken? Is such a thing possible? After barely a day of establishing itself?”

Well.

As far as Nori knew it has always been that where Thorin went, Dwalin followed. For all their life. Nori had a suspicion that there was a moment before what was now known as the Battle of Five Armies that Dwalin had confronted his best friend and King, making it clear that they had reached a point where he could no longer follow Thorin in good conscience. Whether it was that incident that broke Thorin from his gold sickness or his own will or a combination of both, nobody would ever know for sure. The situation at hand, however, seemed like another one that could potentially mean a parting of ways of two dwarves whose friendship and camaraderie were almost legendary. For one because Nori knew the gruff warrior longed for companionship. That and the fact that Dwalin as a dwarf was way too honourable to dismiss a claim from a dam Mahal somehow saw fit to match with him; as Író described it he couldn’t ignore a Blessed Bond anyway. And the fact that Nori would bet his beard the warrior still felt guilty about losing Thráin in Mirkwood all those years ago and therefore would go out of his way to see the old King’s youngest daughter safe in her life. No, Nori was almost certain Dwalin would be hard pressed to continue to follow Thorin on his path of hatred and denial in all the lassie was concerned.

As for Nori: he was resolved that his thieving hands would never allow harm to come to the lass either. Because he found that he liked her. But that did not mean he couldn’t also put his best efforts into helping resolve this messed up situation.

“I’m not an expert in bonds,” he said slowly, “Far from it. But I’m certain they’re not meant to break so easily, especially a Blessed Bond. Knowing what I know from Glóin and his Fárni ... I’m thinking Ruby is shutting Dwalin out, and I’d place a bet she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.”

The Dwarf and the Hobbit hung on Nori’s every word, as if he were announcing Eru’s will.

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked with a frown.

“I mean I’ve seen her in Tanner’s compound. The lassie was ever all cowed, keeping her eyes and her head down, not speaking unless spoken to, always dodging out of the way, making herself small and invisible to avoid being manhandled. All while never stopping to work. She’d been running herself ragged seeing to that bunch of kanubnul for ten years. She wasn’t like that for a bit when she spoke to us, me and Kirvi. There’s spark in her, Dwarrow stubbornness and a Hobbit’s resilience. Bravery, too, that she trusted us enough in such a short span of time to be in on my plan to escape. That she’s like she was at Tanner’s now tells me she’s confused, hurt ... terrified.”

“It’s self-preservation,” Balin added in understanding.

“Aye. It’s what I think anyway. She’s built up walls that would put Erebor’s defenses to shame. Might be wrong, of course. Never been good with reading lasses.”

“No, you’re likely right. It makes sense,” Bilbo sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “But what do we do now?”

Nori could think of a great many things he wanted to say. Some were more advisable than others. Some were outright foolish. He resolved to focus on the most pressing matters: “You might want to warn the bounders that there could be some Mannish rogues come sniffing around. We burned down his compound, his forge, killed most of his ruffians and those damnable dogs. Tanner ain’t going to be pleased. I bet my breaches that he knew Ruby’s Adad was a dwarf and her mum a Hobbit. He might even know their names. While I’m almost certain he didn’t know her parents’ heritage and no trace should lead to the Shire you’ll never know. Better to be safe than sorry.”

“You don’t know what this Tanner looks like?” Balin asked.

Nori shook his head. “Nope, haven’t seen hide nor hair of him. But his Men feared him, and the lass did, too. He’s an organized mind, ought to be, to run a scheme as he did, and he knows how to keep people in line. He’s dangerous.”

“Well, so are we,” Bilbo said with conviction, straightening his spine. “It’s unwise to wake the ire of Erebor.” The Hobbit’s eyes glittered, and Nori was reminded why Bilbo had managed to cement his position in the Kingdom Under the Mountain in such a way that it seemed impossible to see it function and prosper without the Royal Consort.

“Well said,” Balin agreed, likewise proudly standing straight. “We do take care of our own. To think Dwarrow have been taken prisoner and killed by this Tanner, and a young lassie like Ruby has been kept there for ten years ... it’s an inexcusable slight. Which is why we should discuss what to do next.”

“Well, I’ll inform the bounders, about Tanner’s compound and his illegal dealings and the possible threat he poses, and I’ll check in on Kirvi. The healer should be done with him and be able to give me a report. I’ll speak to the soldiers and then-“ Bilbo trailed off with a grimace.

Nori felt it was time to address the many oliphants in the room. “What about Thorin?”

The Hobbit sighed. “You leave Thorin to me. There’s no point talking to him while he’s in a strop.” Clasping his hands behind his back he looked to the ground. “Ruby said Thráin died thirteen years ago. Thorin does not yet know this.”

 _Bugger._ Nori never knew Thráin, nor could he find it in himself to care too much about the former King. He let too many people down. But Nori could care for Thráin because of Ruby. Because by the looks of it he had raised her right. Nodding slowly Nori addressed the second oliphant: “What of Ruby? Frankly, I’m finding it difficult to understand why none of you has told her who Thorin is. To us and to her. Judging by her face before she also didn’t know you’re Thorin’s husband. She’s gotta feel betrayed by all of you. And by her Adad, too. To her it looks like everybody’s lied to her. Will be hard to gain her trust again now.”

Shaking his head Balin looked dismayed. “We didn’t mean to keep secrets from her,” he explained. “Nothing could be further from the truth. There simply wasn’t any time. She was determined to go find you and Kirvi, Dwalin barely managed to have her wait until this morning. Just at breakfast we spoke about all of us coming together and talking things over as soon as we’ve got you back. We didn’t even think Thorin would join the rescue party. That matters would get so out of hand ... who was to foresee that?”

Nori sighed. Aye, who was to foresee that Thorin would be so adamantly convinced about the lassies guilt? “I’ll talk to Ruby,” he promised. “See if I can get her to come out of her shell.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thráin’s death: So Ruby had told Dwalin, who told Balin, who would have told Bilbo while they were alone and waiting for the others to come back from retrieving Nori and Kirvi. Now Nori knows, too. 
> 
> Yesthar – supreme partner (spouse/mate/bride) – in this case: husband  
> kanubnul – mutts/mongrels


	17. Crafty Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori attempts to unravel the mess

(Nori)

When Nori entered Bilbo’s smial a while later, however, he was immediately cornered by Dori, whose prickly mood made even his normally smooth and immaculate beard braids stand askew.

“She doesn’t speak to me, doesn’t want me around,” he bristled, “I tried to settle her in the kitchen and make her some tea, but she gave me a glare that rivals Dís’ at her most fearsome and went into her room. I’ve knocked, asked her if she wants some food, company, advice, anything. All I get is ‘I’d like to be left alone’.” Dori ran a hand over his beard in a fruitless attempt to flatten his braids. “But she shouldn’t be alone. Not right now. Not after what has happened.” The prim dwarf’s eyes settled weightily on Nori. “Where is Bilbo? He ought to talk to her. Where is Dwalin? What is going on between the two of them? I just don’t understand. This morning everything was different.”

Nori pulled Dori to the kitchen and swiftly filled him in about what had been devised with Balin and Bilbo. “Make me a tray,” Nori asked his brother, knowing he’d have to get a little crafty, “I’m famished. Taking it into the lassie’s room will give me something to do, maybe get her to join me and hopefully have her talk. But make sure to only put one setting out.” He’d be making sure she keenly felt the need for sustenance without having her think any was prepared for her.

Dori gave him a glare but complied, not taking long to prepare a tray with plate, cutlery and cup for one, and indeed it was a tray fit for Nori’s hunger for it was piled high with cold slices of cut meat, thick chunks of cheese, a few juicy roasted chicken legs, a slaw with nuts and berries, bread and some fruit tarts. A growler containing ale was accompanying it. Nori divested himself of his boots and overcoat and had a quick wash up in Bilbo’s bathroom. Then he took tray and growler from Dori and deftly carried them down the hall to the room Ruby was in. He tapped against the closed door with his socked foot and immediately opened the door while nimbly balancing the tray on one hand and held the growler tucked under his arm, not waiting for her response.

Ruby looked up when he danced into her room on light feet, startled. Sitting on the bed and facing the window the lass had to crane her neck to look at him. Meeting his eyes briefly he could see her shoulders hunch. “I’d like to be alone, please.” She said it quietly, so quietly that it was barely more than a whisper and turned towards the window again. Her tone was neither upset nor thick with tears. Instead, there was no emotion in her voice at all. And that was almost more worrying. While Nori wasn’t a fan of anyone breaking down with tears - and womenfolk crying were worse than facing a pack of wild wargs - but right now he desperately wished to see Ruby’s eyes red and her face tear-streaked. It would be better than seeing the closed off, shut down expression she wore, and the hunched shoulders.

“And I don’t blame you,” he said but walked in regardless, kicking the door shut and slowly making his way over to her. Making himself less of a physical presence and therefore hopefully less intruding Nori settled at the wall under the window, placing tray and growler down between them on the floor. She stared at him for a moment but then folded her arms over her chest and slightly turned away from him, her expression blank. Inwardly, he groaned.

“Look, I don’t think you should be alone, and I need to eat. So, I’m here, catching two birds with one stone.” He crossed his legs and poured himself a drink into the sole cup Dori had provided. “Maybe you feel like asking me questions? Would do my best answering them.” He took a drink, making a show of lifting the cup to toast her even though she did not look in his direction. “Maybe you’d like to join me? Dori, as always, has been overdoing it, and this is a lot of food. Then again, I am hungry. The last meal’s been a while.”

Ruby did not react, and Nori began to eat. Noisily. He chewed with exaggerated enthusiasm and swallowed with particular gusto. He eagerly tore meat off the chicken leg with his teeth and keenly gulped down ale. He sawed at the hard cheese with the knife and scraped the fork against the bowl as he shoved the slaw into his mouth and crunched the nuts with relish.

The lass kept herself demonstrative passive even though her blue eyes flicked restlessly around betraying her irritation; likely at his intrusion and his manners ... and Nori could hear her tummy growl. Once or twice she frowned sideways at him.

But she did not say a word.

When the tray was getting emptier Nori slowed down his eating and made himself more comfortable, stretching one leg out. Nori quite prided himself to be able to figure out what made people tick. He had always been able to sort through entanglements that made a person act in the way they were; part of the reason he was now the King’s Spymaster. Nori knew how to cut right through any manner of complications to get to the truth of things. And the truth of things invariably began and ended with emotions. Always. Simple greed more often than not, or anger, hatred even. Love was almost a strong a motivator for people’s actions as revenge. As was jealousy, Nori had seen it a time or two. Then, when Dwarrow were involved one had to add a good dose of possessiveness, stubbornness and a capability to hold on to a grudge beyond all reason and sense.

Aye, Nori could well pin together why Ruby felt the way she did just now.

He could also understand Thorin, although that didn’t excuse his behaviour; a dwarf did not pull a weapon against a lassie (unless in self-defense; and Nori had known a dangerous dam or two that had a tendency to stab first and ask questions later).

Nori was also sure he could venture a guess as to why Thráin had kept the truth from his second daughter.

Then again, Nori strongly believed that the truth was always better than some sort of omission or a blatant lie. Because the lack of anything but the truth would lead a person to make assumptions. And assumptions would lead to opinions. Opinions that were wrong more often than not. And opinions were a beast to change, especially when it came to Dwarrow, who could stubbornly hold on to one even if they were proven wrong a hundred times over.

And that was the matter of it: Ruby had not been told the truth. Not by her Adad, possibly not by her mother either if Berylla actually did know the truth about Thráin; not by Dwalin, Balin, Bilbo, Dori, Gimli. Not by Nori either. Aye, time had been against them and loading the ‘truth’ on her under the circumstances might well have caused her to block off as well.

But still.

Had they all told the truth she wouldn’t feel lied to, wouldn’t feel unworthy of the trust of people she’d consider family. To see her now so brought down and subdued when not half a day ago Nori had been able to see a glimpse of a lively lassie, her and Dwalin both wearing outrageously beaming smiles, was not an easy pill to swallow when Nori considered part of the reason it was this way his fault.

As she continued avoiding to look at him, her arms still folded in an effort to shield herself, Nori considered what Balin and Bilbo had told him about her knowledge of Író’s writings and he concluded that Thráin likely had taught her much of the ancient Khazad history and traditions. Considering what Ruby did not know, however, Nori was fairly sure she might well be able to recite to him the Khazad Kings of old with ease but would have no clue about the latest history of their peoples. He was not particularly knowledgeable about the finer details of the Longbeard history either, but years of listening to Ori’s enthusiastic ramblings had Nori form a solid understanding about it regardless.

So Nori told her. He began with the fall of Khazad-Dûm and the attempts of the line of Durin to settle in Gundabad and Erebor. He explained about the split that came upon them when half of the Longbeards settled in Erebor with Thrór, the other half in the Iron Hills with his younger brother Grór. He told her of Erebor’s glory days and of Thrór’s slow infection with the gold sickness. At that stage she unfolded her arms and cocked her head, listening intently, even if she still avoided looking at him. Nori continued talking, describing all the ugliness of the coming of Smaug with waving arms and much gesturing. She turned towards him then, watching him with wide, shocked eyes. Taking a brief break to breathe and to refill his cup Nori drained it in one gulp, refilled it and held it out to her. She eyed it warily for a moment, and almost snatched it out of his hand when she took it, but taking it she did. Nori bit back a smile and continued telling her about the years of Wandering while he arranged some bite-sized bits of meat, cheese and bread on a plate and handed it to her. She put it in front of her on the bed and began eating, slowly at first, but while Nori told of Azanulbizar and the trek to Ered Luin, the plate emptied. Nori did not leave out Thráin’s ill-begotten journey east, nor his subsequent disappearance, but - despite his belief in the truth - he did not tell her about Dwalin’s involvement in it; that was the warrior’s place to tell. And while he told all about the quest of Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo’s connection to it Nori made a wide berth around the business with the Arkenstone and the gold sickness. Nori explained in detail, however, that Thráin, Thorin, Balin and Dwalin were part of those that had to come to terms with a life on the road for decades, with all the losses and hardships that entailed, and in war camps after. That the battles fought with the orcs were a dark, atrocious part of their history, and how those that survived them were forever marked by those years. He told her that Thráin largely withdrew from the public eye, leaving the leadership to Thorin when he was too young, really, to take it on. But that Thorin ever did his best for their people, giving up on his own comforts to see his people taking care of, and that all of his family share that trait. He told her that it took Thorin years to accept being called King by his people after his father’s disappearance, a King-in-Exile, until he, too, was becoming restless, and how, with the help of a wizard, a map, a key and a Hobbit, the quest for Erebor had been successful. He told her how the Baggins of Bag End came to be the Royal Consort of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, and how the first sign of life from Thráin in over a century in form of a bread knife had sprung them into action, trying to uncover the whereabouts of their old King.

“He’s dead,” she said then, after listening to the end without interrupting, her blue eyes fixed on him without wavering. Knowing that fact already, Nori was able to read much in her face, but much she hid behind a continued blank expression. _She’s a clever lass indeed_. Nori could tell that she knew he had purposefully mentioned Thorin and Dwalin many a time and that there was still much he had barely brushed upon or scraped past entirely. He also noted that she was not surprised about his explanation that a bread knife had begun their search; already at Tanner’s compound he had suspected the lass had a healthy dose of Dwarrow makansul.

“How did he die?” he asked instead.

“Peacefully,” she told him, speaking to the vicinity of the wall beside him. “Lay down thirteen years ago and woke no more. Mama never recovered. She was not his One, since she was not Khazad, but still it was as if her life force was drained by his passing. His absence left a void that I could not fill. She became sickly, she, who never even had a runny nose in all her life suddenly had all sorts of fevers and aches. One day she died.” She fell quiet.

It was the truth, but it was not the whole truth, Nori was certain. Remembering what the lass had said the day he met her at Tanner’s compound he asked: “That’s when Tanner took you?”

“Yes.” Blue eyes unreadable she nodded, but gave no further explanation, although her hands shook lightly as she clumsily smoothed the fabric of her tunic. Aye, much more happened on the day Tanner ‘took her’.

They sat in silence for a while.

Nori let her sit in silence.

She’d done a lot of listening and while her face was still closed off, judging by her eyes that darted this way and that and her hands that kept clenching and unclenching in the folds of the tunic it was clear a lot of thinking now had to follow.

Eventually she spoke, trying to keep her voice steady but failing miserably. “Why did he lie to me? I just don’t understand.”

Nori wasn’t sure whether _he_ was Thráin or Dwalin, but he chose to assume the first and sighed, trying to find the right words. “I’ve not known Thráin in person, lass, only know what’s been told about him, by friends and family who loved him, but also by folk that resented him for one reason or another. So it’s not my place to tell you about him. What’s certain is that Thráin’s had many troubles throughout his life. He had no siblings; all the weight of the crown fell on him when his own father’s rule became ... questionable ... As a dwarf he seems to have been more the quiet sort, not necessarily of a jovial, boisterous nature. He might have been happy leading a simple life, but the weight of the crown crushed him. He liked working in the background, smoothing ruffled feathers where no one could see but he did not cope well with the pressure of leadership. As for why he didn’t tell you? I don’t know. Maybe he simply enjoyed being a simple dwarf with a small family. Maybe he knew what your life might have been like if anyone found out about you. Maybe he meant to tell you later when you were older. Maybe he just had enough of being King, maybe he thought he’d done a bad job, and this was the easier way out than telling Thorin to take the crown. I don’t know. I cannot tell you if he was a good father to Thorin, I cannot tell you if Thráin was raising you any differently than he did Thorin ... that’s for the two of you to figure out.”

She rubbed her nose. “Didn’t look like he wants to figure out anything about me,” she mumbled, looking at the floor. “Rather looked like he wanted to kill me. Because I’m an imposter, a liar and a thief.” She shot him a pointed look.

Nori sighed and shook his head. “It’s not what I told him. I know you’re not a thief.”

She shot him a disbelieving look.

“You forget I was there, at Tanner’s compound,” he reminded her, “I’ve seen how those scum treated you.” He gave her a sharp glance. “I’ve had an inkling pretty early on who your parents might be, as crazy as it sounded in my head. It’s true, I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it at first. But now you having Thráin’s maker’s mark makes complete sense. Not for a moment did I believe you stole it, handling it all possessive like as you were.”

Ruby stared at him. “You guessed my Adad is Thráin and my Mama Berylla Took?”

“Aye, I did. I’m clever like that.” He shrugged nonchalantly and gave her a wink, but neither brought some sort of expression to her blank face. “You look a lot like Thorin. Same shade hair, same eyes. It’s a rare combination, that shade hair with those eyes. Aye, at first glance you look like a Hobbit. But no Hobbit would ever wear boots, and you’ve been lifting stuff around in Tanner’s kitchen like no Hobbit lass your age could. When I looked proper it was obvious: your nose is not quite round enough to be just a Hobbit’s, and your stubborn enough to be full Khazad, too.” Now he shot her a look. “And no Hobbit would be able to read the metal at the forge. You’ve got makansul, and a pretty strong one, I wager. Definitely a Dwarrow lass. But since I know that all of the Shire still talk about Berylla Took, the lass who left her home and her family to live - as everyone thought - with a Man, I couldn’t help asking myself what if. What if it had never been a Man, but a Dwarf? What if Berylla Took made a home with a Dwarf? And Thráin named you Ruby Makhdûna, aye? I’ve no doubt your parents raised you to be well at home in both worlds.”

She snorted then, shaking her head and folding her arms again. “A few days ago I thought so, too,” she confessed, sounding so bloody tired. “Now I’m not so sure. Adad never came with us when Mama and I went to the villages or to Bree to trade. He insisted I look like proper Hobbit then and made me wear my hair in a bun and not show my braids. Mama never wanted to leave Adad alone for long, it wasn’t good for him to be alone. I was ten when he practically made her go and visit her family in the Shire. He also insisted she’d take me along. It was summer and I thought our travel was the best adventure ever. We stayed at the Great Smials and there were so many birthday parties, summer feasts, garden parties and I lived on berries and cream, homemade fruit punches and cakes. I thought we had the best time. Several weeks into our visit I overheard Mama in a conversation with the wife of one of her brothers. They scolded her for leaving my hair open apart from the two small braids I wore. They mocked her for not having a husband who felt the need to come with us to see her family. They called her inappropriate, improper, _outrageous_. She said nothing against it, didn’t argue, brushed it all off with a smile. I remember I thought it odd, thought her weak even. Only when I got into a silly argument with one the other teens they said I was too wild, too rough in my play, that I ate too little and that my feet were funny and that I was odd with my obsession for rocks and shiny things. _Almost like a Dwarf_ , they said. That was the only time Mama got angry. Her voice was like ice when she told them off and we left the next day. I fought her and cried all the way home because I didn’t want to leave. I refused to wear my boots and we yelled at each other and then she cried, too, and by the time we made it back home the skin on my feet was cut and blistered. Adad cleaned the wounds and bandaged me up and told me he’s absolutely fine with me never wearing boots again, but if that was my choice, he said he expected me to handle the consequences. He said that was part of life, that whatever choice we make, there will be consequences. We might not be happy about it, might even come to regret our choice, but once a choice was made there would be a consequence of some sort. But he also said that it did not mean we could not change our decision and make another choice. It’s called learning from our mistakes, he said. I left my boots off all through autumn and I bandaged them myself every time I had cuts. I think my toes were black and blue almost all the time during those months, where I stubbed them at table legs and stones on the path. One day Mama went early to gather mushrooms and I wanted to come along. But I had slept in and then took a long-time having breakfast and longer still to bandage my feet. The weather was turning, and she didn’t have the time to wait for me. She could not pick as many as she would have liked because I was not there, and I got none for dinner. I wore boots again from the next day, apart from when I was in our own garden.”

Nori hummed. _Sure sounds like Thráin had done a lot of soul searching about his own life choices and their consequences_. “To me that story of yours tells that you do know both worlds, dazbith, and did your best to find your place in them, even if you don’t fully feel at home in either,” he told her softly. “When we met Bilbo Baggins he was the first Hobbit we really had contact with. We knew nothing about Hobbits and I’m ashamed to remember how crudely we told him that we thought it abnormal to be barefoot, for Mahal’s sake, and how many times we harangued him to wear boots. If we were like that, with most of us having been out and about among other races, it’s only natural that Hobbits, who’ve largely never been anywhere other than the Shire and towards Bree-way, would pick up on things that were different in their little lives.”

Ruby pulled her shoulders up. “But it’s not that simple, isn’t it?” Her voice was flat. “It took me years to figure it out. Years to understand what I had overheard the adults say in the Shire. To figure out that the Tooks didn’t talk down to my mother because she had the audacity to move away from the Shire and her family there, not only anyway. Their issue was that she had a child with someone who was _not_ a Hobbit. They thought that it was a Man and that was a bad enough in their opinion. What would their reaction have been had they known it was a Dwarf?” She looked at Nori then, her blue eyes wide and inquiring. Nori knew, of course, what the Hobbits’ reaction would have been. Dwarrow by large did not have a good reputation among the other races of Arda. Partially it was their own fault, being tight lipped and secretive about their ways was not exactly a way to endear them to anyone. That their understanding of honour and loyalty was generally far more straight forward than that of Men, or even Elves ... few knew Dwarrow well enough to have found out.

The lassies gaze went distant, her mind caught in a memory. Suddenly she shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s what he thinks, too. Thorin, _son of Thráin_ , son of Thrór. Your _King_ -“ Her words came to a stuttering halt. “That’s what he meant yesterday, when he said if I’m even a bit like my mother I know more than two worlds, maybe, because how else could I have voluntarily been staying with _Men_ for ten years.”

Nori didn’t even bother to hold back and blew a sigh noisily out his nose. _Thorin really can be such an idiot! If that’s what he said to her it’s no wonder the lass slapped him._ “Look,” he said, keeping his voice set, “Thorin’s known for his verbal blunders and a temper that burns quick and bright like a flash flare, but it’s out just as fast. He will see the disgrace of his behaviour towards you, don’t you worry.” When she shot him an incredulous look Nori grimaced, well remembering how Thorin had stalked her with his sword drawn. “Might take some time but he’ll come round,” he conceded. “Is a lot to digest after all, you being his Adad’s youngest daughter and all. But it will happen. Likely will need a few knocks on the head and a bit of stern talking to from those close to him.”

“Like you?” Her sharp eyes burned into him and for a moment Nori wasn’t sure whether she was mocking him or accusing him.

He made himself shrug and snorted a laugh. “Nah. Even though he might listen to my advice I’m not what he considers family. I was but a thief in Ered Luin, born in the bad part of town and nothing but trouble for most of my life. Only became respectable after me and my brothers joined the quest and reclaimed Erebor. I’m now the Spymaster of the Kingdom Under the Mountain and while my word may well have some weight in certain matters, I doubt this will be one of them.” Nori carefully pulled his legs close and pushed himself to his feet with deliberate slowness. Ruby’s eyes swiveled to him briefly and when he took the two steps to the bed and carefully set down at the edge, leaving a generous gap between them, she physically shied away from his presence.

Nori never had ever in all his life wanted to be able to turn back time as much as he did now.

“Lass, I am no danger to you, I swear it,” he said, holding his hands up, palms out. She did not react but hugged her knees tighter. “When I say those close to Thorin will knock some sense to him I meant his family, of course. Balin is not only the Head Advisor to the King but also a cousin. Dwalin has been Thorin’s best friend since they were dwarflings and is the Head of Erebor’s Security now. Then there’s Dís.”

The lass didn’t ask, but the frown she sent sideways at him told Nori enough to follow up with an explanation. “Thráin had three children in Erebor. Thorin, Frerin, who died in battle long ago, and Dís. Dís has two sons, Fíli and Kíli. The lads are Thorin’s heirs and fine lads they are, with good heads on their shoulders. And Dís, she is a force to be reckoned with, an impressive, clever dam, who’s also kind and friendly and a million times more diplomatic and inviting than Thorin ever could be on his finest day.” Nori didn’t give any reassurances or even make any promises about Fíli, Kíli or Dís immediately warming to her; that would be unwise. Even though he was fairly certain the lads would accept Ruby Makhdûna without a great deal of fuss, Nori was not sure about Dís. _Ah well_ , he thought, _no point striking cold iron._

Ruby said nothing and by her closed down expression Nori was certain she had well picked up on the fact he had not given her guarantees about instant family acceptance. It would be a long, cumbersome road for everyone. Silence stretched between them, deep and heavy. Then she rubbed a hand over a face that was drawn from the mental and emotional strain of the past days and hours. “Uzbadnâtha Sigintarâgu,” she whispered, almost as if speaking to herself. “My half-brother may be a King, my half-sister may be a Princess, but I was born to pull turnips.”

“It’s not a bad thing to be pulling turnips, not for a Hobbit,” Nori assured her, “But you’ll just as much be at home in any Khazad dwelling, I guarantee it. Especially when Dwalin’s there, too.”

The lass scrunched up her face and for a moment Nori was sure she was going to cry. But then she clenched her teeth together and lifted her chin stubbornly. In that moment she looked so very much like Bilbo and also like Thorin, it was almost startling. “I don’t really want to talk about Dwalin just now,” she muttered.

“Alright.” Nori knew when it was enough. He slowly reached out to carefully rest a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll leave you be, bugged you long enough now, haven’t I. But you’ve eaten, means you got Dori off your back. Go to bed, lass. I’m not going to tell you to sleep ‘cause I know sleep’s not going to come easy tonight. But at least rest. Stretch out and know that you’re safe here.” He gave her shoulder a gently squeeze when she looked at him rather doubtfully and met her eyes with utmost sincerity. “I’ll be staying right outside that door, making sure they’ll all leave you in peace until morning.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do like the way Nori’s mind works. You think Nori efforts are enough to get Ruby to open up again?  
> And yes, all about the Longbeards and Thrór and Grór is the truth, according to Tolkien's canon. Khazad history is a bit of a clusterfuck, seriously. 
> 
> growler - traditionally a pail or container for carrying drink, especially drought beer; the growler my local bottle shop sells holds 1,89 litters of whatever beer they happen to have on tap. It’s made of thick glass and gets regular refills 😉  
> makansul – that which is sensed = thing sense  
> Makhdûna – blend of all blends (harmony)  
> Dazbith - diamond that is young  
> Uzbadnâtha Sigintarâgu – Sister of the King, Princess of the Longbeards


	18. Pulling Turnips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: Ruby and the Counsel of Despair: An action taken when all else fails.

(Ruby)

Nori had been kind coming in as he did. Oh, Ruby had known right away what he was trying to achieve when he practically let himself in her room with a tray with one set, but food and drink plenty for two. She could not bring herself to dislike him for it. He had, after all broken her out of some deep thinking. Thinking about how they had arrived at the Green Dragon just before, how she had desperately wished to be anywhere but there, how Bilbo had called out to his _husband_ with a tone that was complex and spoke of years of familiarity. But the King had not turned around.

How was it to be married to a King?

Ruby did not know. Her Mama hadn’t been married to her Adad but they had lived together like a married couple, and he turned out to be a King.

Thráin, son of Thrór, direct descendants from Durin the Deathless, albeit only from his second life.

Of course Ruby knew the history of her Adad’s people, only she had never realized he actually had taught her about his _family_. She had thought him sharing a name with [that first King of Erebor](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Thr%C3%A1in_I) was just coincidence. Her Adad hadn’t _felt_ like a King. True, he did have Thorin’s proud bearing - and if Ruby was honest she could see a resemblance to this first born son of his - although most Dwarrow Ruby had met held themselves straight and with their heads held high even if they were humble merchants, tinkers or smiths. Yet, the whole of Thorin’s bearing as he was swishing about in his exquisite scale mail and the blue, fur lined coat, was another level of proud entirely. He did not look as if he ever truly relaxed. Or smiled. Or even laughed.

Ruby sighed.

Her Adad had liked to laugh, in deep guffawing bellows, and he had smiled almost all the time, certainly always when looking at Ruby or her Mama. And he had been relaxed a lot, when he sat on the bench outside and smoked his pipe, pulling Ruby into his side or patiently combing and braiding Mama’s hair. Ruby could not remember even the slightest argument between her parents and neither ever raised their voice with each other, apart from Mama scolding Adad when he brought mud inside the house or when he singed yet another tunic in the forge or when he smoked his pipe outside and an unfavourable wind blew the smoke towards her precious zucchini. Adad certainly had never ignored her Mama like Thorin had ignored Bilbo. The King had not turned around to look at his husband at all, instead he had let his eyes travel over the assembled group and caught Ruby’s. The hatred in his gaze made it crystal clear what had been the cause of discord between the King and his Royal Consort. Ruby had frozen, feeling sad and sorry for being the reason for their contention, and petrified that Thorin would have another violent outburst like earlier.

He had been terrifying in his anger. Ruby had no doubt that he could smite her with a single, well placed strike. 

She was glad Dori had taken her away and into the relative safety of Bag End. But then she had wanted to be alone. Never had she missed her parents as keenly as she did now. It would have been nice to cry, maybe, but Ruby felt all cold and dried up inside and had no water left to spare for such a useless thing as tears.

Listening to Nori eat would have had to be the most vexing, infuriating challenge of her life. Ruby knew, of course, of Dwarrow and their overall … exuberant … table manners, but Nori brought things to a new level entirely. He slurped and burped, chewed and gnawed in a way crude and revolting that she had a hard time keeping herself from exploding in a little temper of her own.

Oh, that dwarf!

He knew exactly what he was doing, attempting to pull her out of the passive seclusion she had buried herself in to keep her own sanity. But his noisy eating had the desired effect, as well as the delicious smells, because she felt her own hunger keenly and could not refuse him when he handed her food and drink.

He gave her a lot of information when he talked, obviously brushing over a few things that likely involved her Adad or any of the people she had come to know in the last two days. But that was fine. At least it gave her an indication of what the lives of those people had been like.

Dwalin’s life.

And Thorin’s. Her _half-brother_.

Had she not told Bilbo just the previous night that she had always wanted an older brother. His reaction then had been odd. Now Ruby knew why.

Nori had given her a grin and a cheeky wink when he left the room on light feet. It was probably meant to be encouraging, but as his eyes remained serious Ruby had no doubt his encouragement and promise that ‘they would all leave her in peace until morning’ were well meant but likely would be promptly followed by a lot of people wanting to talk to her as soon as the sun would rise. It was not a desirable prospect.

Following Nori’s advice Ruby lay back on the bed and stretched with a sigh, although without taking off her boots, nor her clothes. She would not risk it. What if someone would come barging in, telling her to leave Bag End, casting her out of Bilbo’ Baggins’ smial in the middle of the night? She would not have the time to get dressed. No, she would not risk it, despite Nori’s promise she’d be safe. Because was he truly in a position to make such a promise? The former thief. _Yes, that makes sense_ , Ruby thought, remembering her first impression of him in Tanner’s compound. Nori was a very dangerous dwarf and might possibly have seen and even done things that would make Tanner look like an infant. And now he was the King’s Spymaster. Meaning if the King were to order him to step aside and let him into her room, ready to murder her in her sleep, Nori would probably not have a choice but let him do it. Ruby did not know much about Kings, but she was pretty sure that one did not disobey a direct order. There was nobody, really, who would dare to stand in a King’s path.

 _Dwalin did,_ the small voice of reason said in the back of Ruby’s head. _He protected you from Thorin’s anger._ Watching Dwalin step in the way of Thorin had her chest constrict in fear for him. Thorin had been livid, but the fury she sensed in Dwalin, his anger that diffused his body and flowed over into her own, had been different: an outrage on her behalf.

Still, Ruby did not much like listening to the little voice of reason just now. The pain of betrayal sat too deep.

Because Dwalin had not told her who Thorin was: The King of Longbeards and High King of all Khazad. How could Dwalin keep from her who Thorin was? _He did promise to tell you all about Thráin, he probably would have told you about Thorin then, too,_ the pesky reasonable voice reminded her.

“Maybe,” she whispered. But delaying it had just proven where Dwalin’s loyalty lay. Where all their loyalties lay. With their King. As it should be. _For what am I compared to that?_

_A Blessed One. A half-sister. A princess of Durin’s line._

Ruby could not help but scoff at the ceiling, breezily ignoring the first two points of that really annoying voice. _No! It was true what I told Nori. Pulling turnip’s is all my life is good for. Tanner had that much right: I won’t be tolerated among the peoples of either parent’s race._

Whatever the new day would bring, it was not going to be all around forgiveness, acceptance and instant happiness. Ruby wasn’t sure she could ever simply forgive Thorin what he had said about Mama, how he had charged at her and threatened her at sword point, accusing her of being an imposter, about lying who her father was and stealing the maker’s mark.

Ruby’s hands found the chain around her neck and she pulled the metal stamp out from underneath her clothes. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, letting her makansul go. There was Thráin, a much younger Thráin, with two healthy eyes, making his Mastery stamp. Ruby had explored the large, well-stocked forge many times, had let her eyes travel over the generous workspace and the abundance of tongs, hammers, punches and chisels made from finest quality steel hanging neatly on the walls, sketches and samples of half-finished works laying on the large crafting table to one side. This forge was so unlike the one Thráin had built at the side of their home: the small shed had been open to three sides, blue skies and trees visible, the birds singing in tune with the sounds of Thráin’s tools beating hot metal into shape. She knew young Thráin was filled with pride as he was crafting his Mastery stamp, and with an almost giddy joy that made her want to hug him and be joyful along with him. Ruby had never been allowed into the forge while she was very young, but the urge to be in the place her Adad spent so much time in and that made him smell of fire and hot metal and soot had been so great that she had been _aching_. She had been just past her eighth birthday when she had proposed a deal: she’d be learning the pesky family trees of the Stiffbeard noble families by heart in return for the permission to watch her Adad work. Thráin had been thoroughly amused at her bartering - and agreed to the bargain. She kept her word and could still remember the sense of _belonging_ when she finally was allowed to enter the small shed that functioned as a forge. The heat of the forge fire a welcome burn, like orange-blue caresses on the bare skin of her hands, arms and face. The scent of fire and metal and soot like an embrace.

She had shuddered, then, and Thráin had suddenly watched her with great intensity before explaining the rules (don’t touch anything, don’t speak while I work, stay ten feet away from the fire at all times) and the different tools. Then he built the fire and continued working on the new ladle he had begun making for Berylla. Ruby remembered how she had stayed silent, had let the clang of his hammer and the hiss from the hot metal in the quench bucket wash over her. So soothing. So good. Nothing had ever filled her with such calm as this. When Thráin was done he had removed a thin, long metal that hung from a large metal ring on his belt. He unhooked it and let her hold it. Something in Ruby had shifted then, like puzzle pieces sliding into place. Without needing the explanation Ruby had known she held Thráin’s maker’s mark and what its purpose was. “That was a beautiful forge. And you were so happy. Who did you celebrate with?” she had asked him when her mind came back to the present. Thráin had gone very still at her question; he hadn’t responded for a very long time. “Who do you think I celebrated with?” he asked eventually. She had considered for a moment, gently stroking the maker’s mark in her hand and focusing on the image before her inner eye. “With people that care about you,” she had grinned at him, because she could feel young Thráin’s excitement and his happiness. Thráin’s one eye had lit up before it filled with tears. He had hugged her tight, mumbling about blessings and two souls and supreme senses. The day after, Thráin had taken her swimming – something he had insisted she would learn, much to her Mama’s dismay, who did not share the Took’s proclivity for that particular activity – and for the first time Ruby felt a sense of what was under her feet and deep in the water. She told him how she liked letting the rock in the ground guide her steps and dove to the bottom of the small lake near their home to dig her fingers into the silt and bring up a cabochon garnet and a sapphire. They were not big, but Thráin’s eye certainly had been. When not two weeks later she had insisted they’d dig up the garden bed next to the house to remove a large limestone rock nearly two meters deep to finally solve the problem of Berylla’s badly performing rhododendron and sweet potatoes and instead crush up the rock, steep it in water for her Mama to add to her tomatoes for an extra boost her parents hadn’t argued. And as soon as the tomatoes yielded an extraordinary crop Thráin had taken her to the flat, half buried boulder not far from their house, had sprinkled rock dust on her head and spoke sonorous to Mahal before naming her Ruby Makhdûna. She had been beside herself with joy, and so proud, knowing that she had been given an epithet, like the famous Dwarrow in the stories she loved so much. Thráin did not often evoke Mahal, but there, then, in that moment, Ruby felt - for the first time - she was truly connected to the Maker.

After her Adad’s return to Stone the maker’s mark had been the one thing that gave her a sense of having him in her life, apart from her memories.

It was the very reason why she had fought to keep it and ultimately accepted Tanner’s deal.

 _I’ll not let Thorin have it_. Ruby set her chin, determined. _Son or King, I don’t care. It is my right to have it and I will not give it up._

If that was one of the topics they’d be talking about come morning she did look forward to it even less. All the questioning and all the scrutiny they would be putting her under ... Wanting to know things about her, about Thráin, that were no business of them to know.

And to what point?

Thorin would still resent her, hate her even if she described Thráin as a loving Adad to her. _Dwalin_ would still be stuck between his King and his One. And Ruby did not want to be the reason Bilbo and his husband had a falling out.

_Staying at Bag End will complicate things for all._

But where else to go? Tuckborough?

Everybody in the Shire had believed Ruby was the daughter of Berylla and a Man. Ruby was sure the news about her existence and heritage had spread like wildfire by now. _Why did Mama never correct them?_ It would have been easy to say that it was not a Man but a Dwarf. And despite how badly Dwarrow were frowned upon by the other races, knowing and loving Thráin would have been reason enough to work on improving his kin’s reputation by praising him for being a wonderful partner, a wonderful father, surely? The Hobbit matrons Ruby had overheard in conversation with Berylla could hardly have been looking down on her because of that.

What would those same Hobbit matrons say if they were to learn that Berylla’s Dwarf was, in fact, from the royal line, and a King? Would that make a difference to them? Ruby was reasonably sure Berylla had not known who Thráin was to his people, but she was certain the Hobbit had guessed that he was somewhat important. Or had been. Before whatever had happened to him had happened. Because that something had happened to him was rather obvious. Something that filled his mind with darkness that gave him spells of disorientation and despondency that had a tendency to spiral out of control. Something that had taken his eye and his toes and several fingers, and littered his body with deep scars that looked more like marks from whips, manacles and shackles than scars anyone could earn in battle.

Nori had touched on that when he spoke about Erebor, the dragon Smaug, the battle against the orcs and what appeared to be the loss of Thráin near Mirkwood. It all sounded horrible to Ruby’s ears. She wished she could talk to her Adad about it, have him explain to her what happened to him, where he spent the missing years and whether that was when he was so physically altered.

_Ruby Makhdûna, don’t forget who you are. To forget one’s self is the worst thing that can happen. Do not let that be your fate._

He had tried, Ruby realized then, he had tried to tell her, not so much what happened to him but how it had changed him. And he had tried to give her advice, a life lesson for those times when he would not be around.

It was not surprising that he could not bring himself to explain to her about his hardships, about the pain and suffering Ruby knew from the evidence on his body and in his mind that he must have endured. That he had suffered terribly before, somehow, he found himself in Berylla’s path, literally.

Could she forget, however, could she forgive him that he kept from her his past, that he was a King?

Ruby pressed a kiss to the maker’s mark before tugging it back into her tunic.

The answer was yes. Yes, she could.

Just like she could forgive the others, Nori, Kirvi, Balin, Bilbo. _Dwalin_. They all had known who and what Thráin had been and none had taken the time to tell her. And yet, she could not find it in herself to blame them. There had not really been the time and, what was more, they had it right. Their loyalties should lie with their old King, as it had through much hardship in their already long lives. For what did Ruby matter in the big scheme of things? _Nothing_. It had been her fault and her fault alone that, for a moment, she had given in to the feeling of being part of something. Of being a part of a family again.

Ruby wished she could just disappear. Leave them, at least until she figured out her next steps. It would not be wise to stay where she was not wanted.

_Dwalin wants you. And Bilbo._

Balling her fists Ruby squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath, ruthlessly squashing the presence of Dwalin in her heart.

_Maybe._

But Thorin definitely didn’t want her.

She would not stay where she wasn’t wanted. And if anything, the past day made one thing abundantly clear: Her dream of having a family and a life that was free of sadness and tragedies would remain exactly that: a dream.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, Ruby, what are you planning? 
> 
> I’ve linked the backstory of Thráin I, grandson of Durin VI, son of Nain, and the one that founded Erebor and found the Arkenstone. Feel free to be confused. Understandably, Ruby is, too. 
> 
> Zucchini and tobacco smoke: Even though tobacco has been used as a fertilizer, pesticide and insecticide for ages, there is no doubt that smoking any kind of life plant excessively with tobacco smoke will eventually kill it off. Meaning the odd pipe would unlikely have killed Berylla’s zucchini, but it may well have stunted their growth and given less yield. I’m rolling with that. You might want to read up on TMV tobacco mosaic virus, interesting stuff, but too much for my story.  
> Rhododendron and sweet potato don’t like limestone. A rock deep down in a garden bed will alter the soil over time. The Khazad blood in Ruby told her about the rock, the Hobbit in her knew it was bad for the plants. Her knowledge of how to understand what’s all around her and under her feet also explains why she doesn’t get lost. The very ground she walks on is like a compass for her. 
> 
> makansul – that which is sensed = thing sense  
> Makhdûna – blend of all blends (harmony)


	19. Sprung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin believes Mahal likes to test him. Often.

(Dwalin)

How could everything go from so astonishingly right to so utterly wrong in just a few hours?

Dwalin had always believed that Mahal liked to test him. Often. That the Maker would send his Blessed One in his path only to have her turn away from him what felt like a heartbeat later was a new kind of cruelty and certainly one Dwalin had not expected, fool him.

Their ‘expedition’ to find Nori and his smithing sidekick had turned out to be the pinnacle of disastrously mishandled situation, thank you Thorin. Dwalin could not remember a time where he had been so enraged, at Thorin, at anyone. It had been hard to breathe, hard not to explode in a fury not unlike Thorin’s, if for other reasons.

How dare his King, his best friend, stoop so low in his behaviour to attack a lass, a lass that was Dwalin’s Blessed One?

How dare he draw his sword at her?

Dwalin knew they had been a hair’s breadth away from coming to serious blows, and wouldn’t that have complicated things even further? Thank Mahal for Dori; they all owed the prim, strong dwarf for keeping his cool, Dwalin was well aware.

As Thorin had turned away and stormed off Dwalin had taken a few deep breaths to calm down and then immediately had turned his attention to Ruby. Ruby, whose shoulders had been hunched and her face pale and pinched, her arms hugging herself, the whole figure a picture of confusion, hurt and fear. It made his heart ache to see her like that. That was a very different lassie than the one that had jumped into his arms and had dished out hefty slaps to the Shirriff and Thorin. And when he reached out in his mind to gauge at her emotions and send his own calming vibes through their growing bond there had been _nothing_.

Then Dori kept them separate and Dwalin was so confused, his heart and his mind so fragile without their connection, that he had not even protested. Instead, he had watched Ruby sit on the pony in front of Dori, her head bowed and her expression closed off.

After living without a bond for over a century and a half Dwalin had not expected to miss the connection he had had with Ruby for less than a day so painfully. Even though he understood he didn’t truly know her, just as she didn’t truly know him, she had already seeped into his very bones. It was truly troubling how he could not sense her now. It completely, utterly, threw him. He felt numb, blind and dumb, robbed of his senses, of his thoughts, felt as if his heartbeat was uneven, at half strength, weak.

And aye, it was his fault. He should have told her immediately. He should have told her who Thorin was to her. And he should have made sure she knew who her Adad was to Durin’s folk. And even as he thought it he knew if he could go back in time he’d still not tell her because how did one tell such things?

But certainly, Thorin hadn’t helped matters. The King’s dismissive arrogance at the fact Ruby was Dwalin’s Blessed One was pointless and petty, his fury directed at the wrong person. But Thráin wasn’t here to take Thorin’s anger, to offer explanations, so the full wrath fell on the lass. Dwalin knew Thorin well, too well, knew how his King’s mind worked. He _understood_ his emotions, was sure he wouldn’t cope too well with finding Fundin had sired a lass with say, a Daughter of Men, who spoke their secret tongue without accent and had a stone sense that surpassed that of any Dwarrow. But _understanding_ Thorin’s emotions and _accepting_ them were two different things entirely. Because Dwalin was also sure he’d be prouder to have a half-sister than he would be upset at something that happened long in the past and couldn’t be changed anyway. Then again, he was not the son of a King, nor a King himself, and Fundin had not disappeared from his life in a blur of madness, and even if Dwalin had to shoulder his share of responsibilities that were beyond his years, none had ever come close to the weight on Thorin’s shoulders.

Dwalin knew, of course, that Thorin - even though he never said it out loud, never would be saying it because the oaf could not use his words - always worried about those close to him walking out on him. Walking out on him like his Adad had, because they found themselves tired of dealing with a pauper King, his messes and his brooding. It was rubbish, of course. As far as Dwalin was concerned Thorin did not need to use his words, he knew what was going on in his friend’s head and heart most of the time anyway, always had. And the thought of walking away from Thorin never had crossed his mind in all the difficult years they had faced together.

Not once.

But it did now.

This was going to be a problem, Dwalin knew. If Thorin could neither find it in himself to accept the lass as his half-sister nor as Dwalin’s One, this was going to be a big problem. Never mind trying to fix what he had broken with his Ruby, Dwalin could not see how he could take her back to Erebor to live amidst all this tension. Of course there was a good chance that Dís would immediately take to Ruby and bring her into the family without hesitation. But what if she didn’t?

Thorin’s reaction was so extreme, what if Dís was going to react the same? Would Bilbo go back to Erebor if his husband continued to show nothing but hatred for the lass? How would Balin chose if a choice needed to be made? How would Nori? The Royal Spy seemed to all but have adopted the lass and stood by her side when the King raged in his anger, keeping close to his brother’s pony all the way back, throwing pitying looks at Dwalin and concerned ones at Ruby when she didn’t answer his questions, didn’t react to his pleading. Nori’s loyalty was not one that was easily won, and it very much seemed like Ruby had indeed won it. That, too, would be something Thorin would not forgive her.

The ride back to Hobbiton had been at a brisk pace and in tense silence. The tension did not ease when they dismounted in the yard of the Green Dragon.

“ _Yesthar_ ,” Bilbo said, taking charge in that unassuming, firm and assured way of his. And while Dwalin stood by his pony and watched Ruby listening to when Bilbo addressed Thorin, Dwalin saw her eyes widen a fraction and another layer of hurt and misery on her already pinched and drawn face. Of course, she had not known that Bilbo was married to Thorin either. Dwalin ran a shaky hand over his face. He did not need the bond to know her feeling of betrayal, he could nearly taste it even without. It was a new kind of torture. That and the fact that Dwalin had absolutely no idea how to make her feel better, knowing well how he had contributed to her misery.

Standing forlorn he felt his brother’s hand on his arm and let himself be lead inside the Inn without a fuss, not caring that this was not how a seasoned, battle-hardened warrior should be conducting himself. But he felt so at odds with himself, barely could make sense of where up and down were that he was grateful for his Nadad’s help.

Sitting on the bed in a room Dwalin let out a shuddering sigh.

“What happened?” Balin wanted to know urgently, gripping his shoulders tightly. “Why is there this animosity?”

“I can’t feel her anymore.” Dwalin nearly choked on the words.

“What?”

“I can’t feel our bond anymore.” Feeling tears well up in his eyes he looked up at his shocked brother imploringly. “Tell me how I can fix this, Nadad. I cannot be without her.” He wanted to be a small dwarfling all of a sudden, with all the trust the very young have into their Elders to fix things that had gone wrong, to make pain go away, to chase away a nightmare.

“Right.” Balin’s eyes lit up with a determined fire. They were well past dwarfling age but Balin was still the older brother, and if anyone could find a way to fix this, it would be him, Dwalin was certain.

When Balin returned sometime later his face was stern and the fire in his eyes was mixed with something akin to disappointment, but the set of his chin was anger. Swallowing his questions Dwalin found himself ushered along, out of the room and out of the Green Dragon and through Hobbiton and up the hill and into Bag End. He did not dare ask to what was going on, what Balin had done or found out, too afraid to hear an answer he didn’t like. But then Balin began taking his weapons off him and stripped him off his armour and then he was in Bilbo’s kitchen and Dori put a steaming mug in front of him.

“Nori’s with her now,” the prim dwarf said curtly without being asked, nodding at Balin and handing him a second mug.

“Thank you, Dori,” Balin responded pleasantly, his tone betraying nothing. They eyed each other momentarily before Balin sighed. “I also thank you for stepping between Thorin and my brother, preventing the situation from escalating even further.”

Dori harrumphed. “Yes, well, it was not pleasant, that’s for sure. Grown Dwarrow behaving like dwarflings in a tiff. It was the last thing the lassie needed.”

Balin sighed again. “Indeed.” He briefly slid his eyes across to Dwalin. “How is she?”

“Not too great,” Dori confessed and smoothed a hand over the intricate braids on his chin, a gesture Dwalin recognized as the one the prim dwarf made when he was deeply unsettled. “She’s looked herself in her room, didn’t want me with her, refused conversation, food, anything. Nori’s come and said he’ll try. He’s been in there for a fair while now. I guess that’s a good thing, means she hasn’t thrown him out.”

“Good indeed.” Balin reached out to pat Dwalin’s arm. “Hear that, Naddith, there’s hope she’ll forgive us all our blunder.” Dwalin could not bring himself to react, certainly not to share into the sentiment.

Hope.

Hope was a fickle mistress. He had ever done his best to stay well clear of her. He took a large mouthful from his drink. Strong tea sweetened with honey and spiced up with a generous dash of Bilbo’s blackberry brandy. It warmed him in more than one way, but after a full day without food it also went straight to his head. Unfortunately, it still did not warm that empty, aching spot in his soul.

“What Thorin’s said and done is beyond forgiveness,” Dori said bluntly, forehead creased in a fierce frown.

 _Right_.

So Dori’s already made a choice then.

“What is it he’s said, exactly?” Balin asked in his neutral Advisor-of-the-King tone. And while Dori launched into a detailed recount Dwalin continued sipping on his spiked tea and as he looked up and across the table he met the eyes of Bilbo, who stood in the doorway, unnoticed by Dori and Balin. The Hobbit’s face was pale and a grimace twisted his features.

“As I said, it’s beyond forgiveness. Drawing a weapon, threatening her with violence, after all she’s been through. It’s unbecoming for any dwarf, it’s unbecoming for a King.”

“At least we’ve solved the mystery of the maker’s mark,” Bilbo said as he stepped into the kitchen, startling the two older dwarves.

“Bilbo,” Dori paled, “I-“

“Don’t worry about it, Dori, my friend,” the Hobbit assured him with a sad smile, “I quite share your sentiment. But it’s still Thorin we’re talking about. And beneath all that thick-headed anger and broodiness is a very loveable dwarf.” He reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup of tea. They were silent and watched as he fussed with sugar and milk. Dwalin was just about to ask how they could get that loveable dwarf to come around and accept Ruby, the shutting of doors and steps in the hallway caught their attention.

Nori walked into the kitchen, flashing a smug grin at his brother and lifted a tray with empty bowls and plates and a growler lying sideways on it, also empty. “She’s eaten,” he announced triumphantly, looking like he used to when Dwalin happened to catch him in Ered Luin, knowing the thief had his hand in the latest heist but not enough proof to pin him down for long.

Dori rose. “Well done, brother. How did you do it?”

Nori shrugged, looking pleased; he never heard much praise from his older brother, rarely heard it even now. “I’ve my ways,” was all he said. Dwalin’s eyes hung on his face, waiting for something, for anything more that would tell him about Ruby’s state of mind. Had she forgiven him, perhaps. But no, he would feel her, surely, if she had.

Sensing his eyes Nori looked at Dwalin. “I’ve spoken to her long. Filled in a few gaps in her knowledge. Figured she’d know everything of our ancient days but not so much about the newer history. Told her of Erebor and how the mountain was lost and why. Of the years after, the war, of Azanulbizar and Ered Luin. Told her how a Hobbit came to be in Erebor now, and how we came to be here.” He slid into a seat and pointed his chin at Dwalin. “Left a fair bit out, too. Told her how Thráin’s mind slipped and how he was lost near Mirkwood but didn’t tell her that you were there. Figured that’s for you to say.”

“Did she tell you about Thráin?” Balin wanted to know. “Did she tell you how he came to be with her mother. How he died?”

“She said he died thirteen years ago. Lay down and woke no more. Her mother followed him not too long after, couldn’t be without him it seems. She’s not told me all, held back just as much as I did I wager, but when Berylla passed Ruby was taken by Tanner. And she’s been in that compound of his since then.” Then Nori launched into a report of all that had transpired while he had been there himself and what he managed to pin together from the details he gathered. “It was good I’ve had Kirvi with me, and not just because of the forge work. He gave me the idea to the right angle to convince the lass to help us. How is the lad anyway?”

“He’ll be fine,” Bilbo told him. “The wound is infected but old Gilly Gardner assures me that it’s not gone too far to be treated well. It will take a while, but Kirvi will be back on his feet without any lasting damage.”

“Good, that’s good,” Nori exclaimed, looking relieved. “You’ve informed the bounders about a possible threat from Men?”

Dwalin perked up. Threat? _Of course!_ Tanner and whatever was left of his thugs might well make their way to the Shire. He could not help but shake his head at himself. It should have been him thinking of that possibility. It was his responsibility to keep everyone safe.

“Don’t fret, guardsman,” Nori addressed him when he saw the headshake, an odd softness in his voice. “We all know how diligent you are. For once you can let your duties slide, we’ll take care of things until you’re back to yourself.”

“Not sure that’ll happy any time soon,” Dwalin confessed lowly, rubbing at the painfully hollow spot in his chest, “Not while I’m to find a way to reconcile with my One.”

“She’ll come round,” Nori assured him. Then he chuckled. “Life certainly won’t be getting boring with her in Erebor.”

“If she ever comes to Erebor,” Dwalin mumbled, wiping a hand over his face. “At this stage I don’t think she’ll be too keen, and I can’t blame her.”

Balin sighed but gave his arm a pat. “Go to bed, Naddith, get some sleep.”

“No point,” Dwalin responded, shaking his head slowly, “Won’t catch a wink. Not until I’ve spoken to her. Not until she lets me explain-“ He broke when his gruff voice trembled with emotion.

“She’ll come around, Dwalin,” Nori repeated with surety. The thief had never called him by his name, it had always been ‘guardsman’, or ‘Fundinul’, or ‘Stoneskull’. The fact that Nori called him by his first name now should be a good thing, but it just reaffirmed how particularly messed up the situation was, confirmed that Nori actually felt sorry for him; Dwalin wasn’t sure he much liked Nori’s pity. “She’s a special lass, she’ll come around. Come morning you two talk to each other, and if I have to lock you into Bilbo’s pantry. It’s going to happen, Dwalin, don’t you worry.”

Hope surged through Dwalin then. Nori sounded so sure, so confident. Maybe he was right, and the new day would indeed shine a better light on matters. So he went and washed up and went to lie down. But once he was in bed, he knew it was pointless. Restlessness plagued him. Tossing and turning Dwalin’s mind reeled. Was Ruby able to sleep? Or was she restless and troubled like him? Just the previous night he had been able to sense her emotions so easily. It had been odd, to have her presence nudge at the back of his mind all the time. Odd in a good way. A little bit distracting, but Dwalin would not have wanted it any other way. Now though, there was _nothing_.

Utter emptiness.

Desolation.

Dwalin screwed his eyes shut against the painful emotions that threatened to rob him of breath. Was she crying perhaps? A tough, resilient lassie crying could wear down the hardiest dwarf, Dwalin knew; they were all saps when it came to their dams anyway, and a weeping dam was worse than a singed beard.

True, Ruby wasn’t a dam, not fully, but she was just as headstrong as the best of them, not that she needed it, being of Durin’s blood.

She’s not going to listen to me when I try to explain, he thought morosely. _But she did listen to you yesterday when you convinced her to wait until morning to go in search of Nori and Kirvi_. Aye, that she did. She had trusted him enough to wait, even though she didn’t know him back then either. True, there was the bond that would have her sense he was sincere, but still. _I just have to hope I find the right words._

Hope.

There was that again.

Hope was a fickle mistress.

Giving up he pushed back the blanket and swung his legs to the side, silently making his way into the hallway and to Ruby’s room. He nearly fell over Nori’s outstretched legs: The Spy Master sat on the floor opposite from Ruby’s door, smoking his pipe in the dark.

“Her room’s secure. The window can’t be opened enough for her to climb out,” he said calmly, and Dwalin was grateful the dwarf didn’t bother with a jaunty ‘can’t sleep, guardsman?’ or any such rubbish comment. He sank down next to Nori. Nori wordlessly offered his pipe.

It was properly foolish for them both to sit there and forgo sleep. But Dwalin knew even if he suggested Nori would not leave his spot to catch some shuteye. He accepted the offered pipe with a nod of thanks and took a deep draft before he handed it back.

The night was quiet, as all nights in the Shire, the silence in Bag End only interrupted by the occasional rumble of snores in the bedrooms, although the fact that they were far from continuous told Dwalin that the occupants didn’t exactly have the most restful sleep either.

As the hours of the night crept towards morning Dwalin felt himself grow more restless. His heartbeat sped up and his gut seized with a sense of foreboding doom. Was he growing nervous about his upcoming long talk with Ruby? The sun had not even risen yet and he’d wait until she had woken proper and eaten some breakfast, so there was still plenty of time. He breathed deeply and tried to calm himself.

When Dwalin’s palms began to sweat and his skin to crawl that it was suddenly impossible to sit still Nori spoke, his voice a low, rough rumble in the darkness: “What is it? Can you feel something from her?”

Dwalin shook his head. No, it was not that. “I don’t know,” he bit out as a surge of anxiety suddenly pulsed through him. He jumped to his feet and rushed to Ruby’s door on a whim, ripping it open. The lump in the bed, covered neatly by the blankets, didn’t even twitch at the sound of the door banging against the wall. Dwalin stomped close, reached out and flung the blanket off: the bed was empty.

He groaned and turned around frantically, trying to figure out what happened. His eyes fell on the window.

It was ... open. No, not open: the window was _not there_.

Ice cold hands squeezed Dwalin’s heart.

Nori pushed past him with a curse, examining the hole in the wall. “She’s removed the glass pane from the window frame,” he said, something like incredulity and awe in his voice. But when he turned and locked eyes with Dwalin his face was grim and his eyes were wide with realization. “She’s done a runner.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. You might have guessed where this was going after reading this chapter's title: Sprung = dated: an escape or release from prison
> 
> Yesthar – supreme partner (spouse/mate/bride) – in this case: husband


	20. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin does some soul searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High time to hear from the loveable idiot.

(Thorin)

He stared at the two flowers in his hand. A bluebell and a twig sprouting a couple of glossy, serrated leaves and the large bloom of a red camellia. He did not remember when he had plucked them, nor where, and could only hope it hadn’t been someone’s garden but a wild patch of blooms alongside a path, or a wall, somewhere. No matter how good they were at sharing in general, Hobbit’s could be as prickly as a warg with a thorn in its paw when someone, anyone, invaded their gardens without their consent. It would take endless invitations to tea to show ones regret and copious amounts of cake and cream to mellow them into forgiveness. Hobbits could not rival Dwarrow in many things, but in holding grudges, they very well could. _Probably outrank them._

The night was clear and a waxing moon bathed the gentle hills of the Shire in its silvery light.

Night-bugs made their usual noise and an owl hooted somewhere in the distance. It was peaceful and quiet. Thorin breathed in deeply. The scent of spring with the slightest lingering of the past winter’s chill hung in the air, so different from the mountains, yet so familiar and comforting.

When he stormed off from the Green Dragon Thorin had felt like he was caught in viciously dark clouds of suffocatingly bad mood. Gulping for air he had fought hard to keep his temper from another violent outburst. Moving around had always helped him clear his head when he had a bad mood - or what Dís liked to call a hissy fit - but Thorin had found that a long walk in the open was preferable to pacing in a the confines of a room for hours. Naturally, it was Bilbo who had taught him that.

But, for once, Dís might actually side with him regarding the reason of his anger. Thorin was pretty sure that Dís would be shocked beyond belief to learn Thráin had indeed lived for decades after being lost in Mirkwood, and had sired another daughter. Dís had no memory of their own mother, unlike Thorin, who remembered the warm but resolute nature of their Amad with all the love a son should have for the dam who had born him, but would Dís not feel just as betrayed as Thorin by Thráin’s second love, to a non-dwarf no less? Dís in anger was fierce, and Thorin cringed inwardly at the thought of his formidable sister armed and furious, crowding in on Ruby Makhdûna.

Just like he had done.

Thorin remembered his words and when after several hours of brisk walking his temper had cooled, hot shame surged through him. He had already been seriously pissed about her very existence right from the start, made worse when he recognized her daughter’s braid, but could not deny that he had seen red the moment Nori mentioned that Ruby carried Thráin’s maker’s mark around her neck. He hadn’t even waited to hear the full story, but had wanted to rip it off her, strangle her for taking what he considered to be rightfully his, what _should_ have been his, what was one of the few pieces that truly had been his Adad’s, had been touched by him, had been _made_ by him, had meant _something_ to him. He wished it were something he could explain, to Bilbo, to anyone. But, alas, he could not find the words to put into phrases the very complex emotions he felt.

About Ruby.

About the maker’s mark.

About his Adad.

About this whole damnable situation.

He wasn’t sure why all the disappointment and deep-set resentment had manifested themselves into fury regarding the lass, and not just because of the words she spoke (because how dare she quote Thráin’s words back at him) and the fact she’d slapped him the day before. It was wrong, wrong then and even more so today, he knew it, deep in his heart. Wrong and not only well below his station but also unbecoming for any grown-up dwarf, a warrior no less, who should know the necessity of discipline and keeping a cool head in times of strife.

Thorin did not like himself when he was that way.

He did not _want_ to be that way.

He was better than that. He might not always have been, he definitely wasn’t just before Bilbo. In the years just before he met Bilbo, he had been so _tired_ of the battles of everyday life, battles for survival, for respect, for acceptance, for support, and it had severely affected his moods.

Before Bilbo, Thorin’s life had been cold and dark. But Bilbo had brought warmth and light and not only because he almost singlehandedly reclaimed Erebor for him. It’s what Bilbo was, is, what the Shire represented far more than any other place in Middle Earth: warmth and light, growth and thriving, in a never-ending circle of life and new beginnings, of planning and planting and harvesting, year after year.

Thorin looked at the flowers in his hand. Bluebells stood for gratitude, humility and constancy, the essence of a love everlasting. And how could it not, a flower that itself appeared to be modest, humbly bowing at the tip down on the flower spikes, with a sweet and strong scent, and one Thorin permanently connected with Bilbo. And the red camellia. At first he, in his ignorance regarding flowers, had thought the many camellias that grew in and around Hobbiton were a type of rose. Bilbo’s ever indulging smiles at Thorin’s floristic blunders were fond memories, as were his gentle teachings regarding flower meanings and gardening. Camellias, Thorin knew now, were not roses, and the evergreen shrubs growing alongside walls and over fences all over the place could bloom in many different colours. Red, however, was Bilbo’s favourite, and stood for love, passion and deep desire. It was quite the meaning for a plant that had a tendency to grow rapidly, no matter how Hamfast trimmed them back every year, and sprouted blossoms the size of Thorin’s hand. It was not a shy flower, if there was such a thing, as if to make a point that it had nothing to be ashamed of regarding the symbolism it represented.

Even though he could not remember having picked them Thorin was not surprised that he had chosen those flowers and not any others available in the abundance that was spring in the Shire; they represented Bilbo and what they had in their relationship more than any bloom possibly could.

True, Bilbo was not Thorin’s One, obviously, as Mahal had no hand in his making, and whichever Vala was responsible for the existence of Hobbits (the Lady Yavanna more likely than not) had opted to bring Bilbo to life _not_ as a lass - which suited Thorin just fine - but there was no denying the attraction that had been there between them the moment they had set eyes on another. Yes, the road had been a struggle, Thorin wasn’t good with feelings, nor with words, but Bilbo seemed to be better at reading between the lines than any person Thorin had ever met in his life and had shown a resolve that bordered at temerity to stay by his side.

Making Bilbo his Royal Consort had been a non-brainer. That he also became his husband was an undeniable, wonderful bonus, Thorin was well aware. Their relationship was the best thing that could ever have happened to Thorin, including reclaiming Erebor, although Thorin would not admit to the latter out loud to anyone. Erebor was good for his people, was good for Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King of Durin’s line and High King of all Khazad. But having Bilbo was good for Thorin, the dwarf with many shortcomings. They understood each other, Thorin and Bilbo, often without words. Thorin could guess at his husband’s thoughts by watching his face and even if he only had a vague idea of Bilbo’s next step he never felt as if he could not trust his husband to do the right thing. Because that’s who Bilbo was: the least pretentious person in all of Arda, who did things because they were _right_. Their bond as ruling couple of Erebor and as husbands was tight. Some days Thorin felt as if Bilbo was imprinted on every fiber of him; his Hobbit had seeped into every part of his life, every crevice of Thorin’s heart and soul.

_How much closer can Ones possibly be?_

Well, according to everyone who had been recognized by a dwarrowdam it was damn near indescribable. The most amazing feeling. Few True Bonds did not end in love after the two parts of a soul meet. And Blessed Bonds ... Well, even if Író’s words were pretty clear Thorin would have been inclined to put the famed author’s descriptions into the realm of fiction - had it not been for Glóin and his Fárni, clear evidence that a Blessed Bond was a reality and none of Író’s words an exaggeration.

It was a bond that defied all logic and reason.

That Dwalin would have been found was already extraordinary. At first, when Ruby had clearly made a beeline for _him_ , only to pass him by without so much as a blink as soon as she set eyes on the gruff warrior, Thorin had been amused. He had seen the expression of her face and her startingly familiar eyes: wide with surprise and shock, quickly followed by relief and disbelief, but also a flash of horror as her feet carried her to the large dwarf and she threw herself into his arms. And when she claimed Dwalin as husband with Luda’s famous words, Thorin was sure he had not had this much fun watching this best friend usually iron countenance crumble like shale in like ... _ever_. That the bond between Ruby Makhdûna and Dwalin was deep right from the start was pretty clear and now Thorin could not say why he had been so _adamant_ at not wanting to believe it. He should know Dwalin, probably better than most, he should have _trusted_ his declaration. Remembering his best friend’s anger as he stepped between his enraged King and his One, ready to stop him in his madness ...

 _Madness_.

The thought made his steps falter. Dwalin had been there once before to stop him from doing the unthinkable. Thorin did not remember a great deal from those days he spent in Erebor’s treasure, but he did remember Dwalin. It had not been so much the words he had spoken, but his very presence and the fact that the mighty warrior oozed sorrow and disappointment. That Dwalin, who had the highest honour code of any dwarf Thorin had ever known, including himself, was disappointed in him to the point of grief and heartbreak had been what, ultimately, had managed to snap Thorin out of the madness. Dwalin, who had ever been at his back like a rock, his loyalty unshakable like the mountains, through all the hard times.

He had been there at every pivotal moment of Thorin’s life. Not a dwarf of many words he just _was_. Solid. Steadfast. He did not deserve Thorin’s outrageous behaviour towards the one Mahal designed as his Blessed One.

But despite vowing to himself he would not let down any who care about him ever again, Thorin knew he had done exactly that. Had his pride get the better of him. Pride of his line, of his esteemed ancestor, of the power the name ‘Durin’ still evoked with Dwarrow, after the reclaiming of Erebor even more than ever before.

Pride and frustration, yes, that was what Thorin felt.

But did he have a right to feel pride?

Yes, he was a son of Durin’s line, but was that a reason to be proud? Durin may have done much to cement his own glory, but many others of his line had failed rather miserably to add something to that glory. They lost Khazad-Dûm. They lost Gundabad. They had lost Erebor, to regain it only after a century and a half of misery and suffering. That, at least, was something Thorin could be proud of.

Yes, he had taken Azog’s arm at Azanulbizar, ending the battle in their favour. _Just not in time to save your brother, grandfather and thousands of Dwarrow warriors from slaughter._ And yes, years later he had finally killed the Pale Orc, ending yet another battle. _Just too late to save countless others, from three races at that_. Had he been in time to grab the Arkenstone when he dragged his grandfather from Erebor’s treasury there would never have been decades of Wandering for his people, there might not have been endless suffering, no hunger and despair. There might have been no War with the Orcs in that disastrous attempt to take back Khazad-Dûm.

Pride. No, there was nothing to be proud of other than that he managed to keep his people somewhat together and managed to reclaim Erebor for them, even though Thorin was only all too aware that he didn’t achieve the latter solely on his own strength or tenacity. The quest would have ended Durin’s line, if not for the good, solid friendships, for the unconditional affection and easy acceptance of his many flaws and Dwarrow that were ready to die for him.

 _Pride_. Thorin could certainly feel pride for the fact that he could call upon good, solid friendships, that he was blessed with the unconditional affection and easy acceptance of his flaws by his family and friends, that he had others who were ready to die for him. Thorin knew that he was incredibly lucky to have people that cared about him. People like his nephews and his sister. People like the Company. Like Dwalin. People like Bilbo. Bilbo, who had always studied him with affection, his keen Hobbit eyes seeing so much more than just the grumpy surface.

Because of these people Thorin, the Dwarf, was constantly reminded that it was alright for Thorin, the King, to have failings. That it did not make him _less_.

So, no, pride was the wrong emotion when examining the intense churning in his gut, the boiling in his blood at the thought that Thráin, son of Thrór, of the line of Durin, had survived the tortures of Dol Guldur, had survived the Wilds, had never bothered to make contact with his Dwarrow family, but created a new one, with a Hobbit, and fathered a child with her.

As he walked up Bagshot Row, idly twiddling the flowers between thumb and forefinger, Thorin recognized that emotion as frustration and doubt. For what father could just walk away from his children? What King could just walk away from his people?

As tempting as it had been many times in his long life - to walk away - Thorin knew he would never have been able to do it. He would toil and work for their benefit until his back broke and his spirit suffocated.

And aye, he had done both for many decades.

Frustration and doubt. Thorin was sure those were emotions he was entitled to feel, considering the current situation with Ruby Makhdûna. Yet, acting out like an unbalanced beardling was not the way to go. Doubting Dwalin, threatening Ruby.

And snubbing Bilbo.

The realization how he had treated his husband was as gut-wrenching as it was terrifying. Because it was a reminder that, the last time he treated Bilbo that way, his mind had slipped. It had slipped and Bilbo almost paid the ultimate price for the madness that had taken over.

Thorin stopped.

Sighed.

 _A meeting_. He would ask them all for a meeting. Sit all of them together in Bag End’s parlour, fortified with tea and biscuits, and he would apologize for his behaviour. Then he would incite a discussion. Have Ruby tell about Thráin. Congratulate her and Dwalin, both, for their Blessed Bond. Have Nori give a proper report. Thank Dori for intercepting him and Dwalin before they came to blows - and wouldn’t that just have been the icing on the cake in this muddle. He would tell Bilbo-

No, that discussion had to happen in privacy.

But the others, Thorin would try to explain his complex feelings about discovering he had a half-sister. He had no illusion that it would not go without a hitch. He could drone on in adhoc speeches until rock turned to dust, but expressing his emotions was a different matter entirely. Yet he would try. Because his family and his friends deserved that, after all they had done for him. He would not follow the way of Dwarrow but the way of Hobbits, offer tea to show his regret, cake and cream to mellow them into forgiveness. He would prove to his husband that he had paid attention to his special brand of diplomacy.

He would reach out to Ruby, and hopefully, over time, accept her existence as a bridge to overcome the complex feelings he had regarding their Adad.

_Yes._

Feeling somewhat calmer and much more collected he directed his feet back home, following the winding road up the gentle hills of Hobbiton. The first rays of the sun turned the dark of the night into soft grey, heavy with morning mist.

He returned to Bag End in chaos.

“The lass has done a runner,” Nori explained, a look of stunned incredulity on his face.

_What?_

Balin, Dori, Gimli, all in their skivvies, rumpled from tossing and turning on a worrisome night, looked in turn worried, shocked, astonished.

Dwalin’s face was ashen and he looked thoroughly shaken.

And Bilbo ...

The Hobbit’s eyes briefly glanced over Thorin as he turned towards Nori and Dwalin, shoving them into action. “Go, you just go,” his Consort said, in his morning gown and looking just as tired as the rest, but with a determined set of his chin. “We’ll follow. Leave a trail so we can follow you easily.”

For a heartbeat everyone stood frozen, eyes flicking between Royal Consort and King wearily. Thorin knew they were waiting for him to say something, anything. Confirm Bilbo’s order, take charge maybe, or overrule it. They were bracing themselves to whatever was going to happen next. Bracing themselves, Thorin realized, for another violent outburst, another surge of vitriol against the lass who had Thráin’s maker’s mark, for another snubbing from the King for his Royal Consort, his husband.

Thorin, however, was just as frozen as everyone else, trying to digest what had happened. _She did a runner_ was pretty clear, but really? The lass ran off. Why would she-

 _Ah_.

Yes, of course. She would, wouldn’t she. No, Thorin could not blame her. For her it would have seemed like they were all liars, and him a brute on top of it, an unstable King who had the power to do her harm, no matter what Dwalin or Bilbo said. Who both had lied to her about other things, they might well lie about this.

No, Thorin could not blame her for wanting to get away.

But where to would she go?

_To wherever she’d feel safe._

As Thorin made no move to act, standing in silence, contemplating, Balin could barely hold in a sigh of exasperation. Dwalin stared at him for a long moment, his expression wavering from incredulous to disappointed to hurt ... and resigned. When the warrior took a halting step towards him Thorin’s gut clenched. Dwalin, he had always known, was the best of them all. Better even than Balin, who was little less lethal in battle but also had a mind that could topple Kings. Thorin always understood he had been lucky to have Balin on his side, and not against him. A son of Fundin could easily attempt to take the throne, with rather good chances to succeed, too. Dwalin would not touch it with a ten-foot pole, even if folk would beg him to. Balin, however-

Straightening to meet his best friend’s eyes, eyes that now were haunted and desperate, Thorin prepared himself for - he wasn’t sure what.

“Thorin,” Dwalin choked out, voice thick and rough with emotion, reminding Thorin of the one other time when Dwalin spoke to him in such a tone. “ I respect and love you, buhel, you know I do. My loyalty to you as my best friend and as my King has ever been solid as the mountains. Your commands are mine to obey and obeyed them I have, always, even if I did not share your opinion at times.” The large dwarf clenched and unclenched his massive fists and heaved a heavy breath. “But.” His tone softened but his steel-grey eyes bore into Thorin’s with a fire as intense as Thorin had never seen it. “But in this we are at odds so fundamentally that I am not sure how we can move forward. So much has gone wrong and while I blame myself gravely for much of it, my Ruby is the one innocent in all of this. I must follow her. She is _everything_ to me. Without her, my life has lost all meaning.”

Thorin still said nothing, could not, chewing on words that wouldn’t come, that weren’t _strong_ enough to convey what he felt. Dwalin’s eyes were wet and he blinked furiously; for a moment Thorin thought the great dwarf would burst into tears and could do no more than stare at the mighty warrior in _shock_.

Bilbo stepped forward and broke the spell. “Thank you, Dwalin. Your turmoil is well understood, as is your self-blame. Both are, I assure you, shared by me. I agree that you must follow her. Time is of the essence.” Small hands tugged at the warrior’s arm to get him going. Bilbo gave a nod at Balin, indicating he should take over getting his brother to move, which the old dwarf did immediately, throwing another dark, disapproving look at Thorin. “Dori, please get a few provisions together for them both, quick snap,” Bilbo ordered, “Gimli, if you could help with Dwalin’s armour and see to it that Nori is outfitted as well.”

The Royal Consort’s tone was firm but polite and as usually, everyone jumped to follow his order’s. _Hobbits_.

Thorin fought a surge of fondness in his heart. They were always so polite and courteous, something Dwarrow were not really used to: the other races had ever happily sneered down at Mahal’s children. Maybe it is a size-thing, Thorin mused and almost gave a small smile.

Which slid right off his face when his husband turned towards him in the now deserted corridor. Bilbo took him in from head to toe in a glancing look, lingering on the two blooms in his hand, before his amazing hazel eyes settled on Thorin’s face.

“You have to make a decision, Thorin,” the Hobbit said in the same firm but polite tone as before, but a tightness around his eyes betrayed his forced calm. “You are the King and I am just your Consort. As such I cannot make your soldiers come along if you order otherwise. But I will go. Because if I do not, I know I can never, in good conscience, look at myself in the mirror again without regret and disdain. And if you do not give that order, Balin, Dori and Gimli will be put before an impossible choice. This is a deciding moment. And you are the deciding factor. What you do now will have long reaching consequences. For you. For me. For Dwalin. Balin. Nori, Dori and subsequently Ori. Gimli, Glóin and Óin. For Fíli and Kíli. And for Dís. You are at a crossroads, Thorin. You have to decide where to go from here.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wondering if there’s still people waiting in line to slap Thorin, after this chapter. I confess I do feel quite sorry for him. His feelings are complex -and it’s really the best word to describe his whole character- but valid, at least from where I’m standing. Yes, he made mistakes, some near unforgivable, but he recognizes that he did. There is much that happened to him in his life that he has suppressed, which is never healthy, and it now came all bubbling up in one big, unpleasant swell with the shock of meeting Ruby. But at heart he is, despite his blunders, a lovable idiot. His earnest planning on how to make amends – the Hobbit way - is quite endearing.  
> This chapter touches on the why Thorin and Bilbo are together, even if they are not Ones by Mahal’s will. Just because there is such a thing as a One does not mean a dwarf cannot simply fall in love with someone who is not his One, is not even a dwarrowdam or the opposite gender, or of his own race. Love conquers all, and is valid, always. 
> 
> On that note: a very Merry Christmas to you all, and may peace, health and love find you wherever you are xx


	21. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby remembers a happier life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas got a little in the way of uploading another chapter, so without further ado ...

(Ruby)

*[When Eru Ilúvatar](https://www.tor.com/2017/10/18/meet-the-valar-and-the-foundations-of-middle-earth/) thought the Song of the Ainur, [Mahal](https://www.tor.com/2017/11/01/dwarves-interrupted-and-the-promise-of-ents/) thought most of the fabric of the Earth. Delighting in the nature of substances and in the works of skill he fashioned all materials that composed Arda, forging all the lands and mountains and basins of the sea, creating the rocks, lodes and gems. He rejoiced in the things he made and in the making itself and passed ever to some new work, without hoarding or possessing, without ever being jealous of others’ creations, instead continually happy to seek and give counsel, for the glory of Eru’s Music. 

In his enjoyment of the fashioning of artful and original things Mahal was most similar in thoughts and powers to Melkor, who was equally gifted in the forges of the world. But while Mahal strove to be true to Eru’s original music and submitted all his creations to His will, Melkor wished to control and subvert all things, was jealous of the creations of others and ever attempted to twist or destroy all that they made. Mahal grew weary of the constant strife between him and Melkor, and of having to repair the tumults and disorders caused by Melkor on his work. When the Maiar Mairon, whom Mahal taught much of his skills, was corrupted by Melkor and after became Sauron, Mahal was dismayed. Desperate for students onto whom he could pass his knowledge and unwilling and too impatient to wait for the children of Ilúvatar to appear, Mahal resolved to create his own race of beings, trying to anticipate His will. He began with Durin and the six other fathers and their mates. Because of the chaos caused by Melkor, Mahal made his children strong, resisting and unyielding, able to endure great hardships and not willing to submit to the dominion of others. However, he did not have the Flame Imperishable that would give them independent life, and so his children were dumb and motionless whenever his mind focused elsewhere; and even though he was the greatest of all craftsmen his knowledge of the image of Eru’s children was imperfect, which is why they are so different in appearance and built to Elves and Men. As Mahal was instructing them in a language he had made for them, Eru Ilúvatar spoke to him in anger, asking why he would seek to exceed his power and authority by attempting to make new life.

Then Mahal, in grief and repentance, humbled himself and asked for pardon. He expressed that the drive to create was kindled in him by Ilúvatar himself and that he only wished for other beings to love and to teach, with whom to share in the praise of Ilúvatar and his great love of the materials of which the world was made. He admitted his impatience had driven him to folly and submitted his creations upon his Father’s will. Assuming that the images of his presumption should be destroyed Mahal raised his hammer to smite the Seven Fathers and their mates, crying as they cried and pleaded for their lives and shrank back from the coming blow. Ilúvatar felt pity and relented, staying Mahal’s hand. He accepted Mahal’s offer by gifting the Dwarrow with spirit of their own, taking them up into His design. It was ordained they had to sleep in darkness and under stone until the firstborn race, the Elves, would wake.

As such Mahal lay the forefathers to rest in far-sundered, deep places, and beside each he laid their mate.*

Ruby sighed. The story of Khazad creation had always been one that intrigued her greatly. Picturing Mahal as the archetypal dwarf, with thick hair and a glorious beard and many richly decorated braids, with broad shoulders and strong hands, working tirelessly in his forge to shape the earth had ever fascinated her. She felt a strange kinship with the Maker. Not unexpected, perhaps, considering her Adad had been a Dwarf, but Ruby was also half Hobbit, and that side of her had never called to her quite as much, she felt. And even more so now, that for ten long years she had to repress and hide much of her Khazad heritage and be Hobbit, mostly. 

Or maybe her Dwarrow-side was just _louder_.

That didn’t mean she didn’t revere the Lady Yavanna just the same. In the end, Mahal and Yavanna were like old souls who had been together for an uncountably long time, shaping and enriching Arda each in their own way and complimenting each other’s work, for were not plants relying on minerals in the soil to grow rich and in turn become essential to the food chain? It was a complex system, and to be but a small part of it filled Ruby with pride.

Of course, the story soured a bit, after Durin followed his desire for travel and exploration, driven by curiosity and a thirst to discover new places and new things.

While Mahal showed himself to be humble and compassionate after his blunder with the Seven Fathers he was not as infallible as one would one of the Vala expect to be, maybe, but Adad had explained to her that everything changed after Melkor’s terror and the Destruction of the Two Trees, resulting in Arda Marred and not in Arda As It Should Have Been According to the Music. And even if Dwarrow had not been made in accordance with Ilúvatar’s design and therefore were considerably different to Elves and Men, they had been accepted by Him as His adopted children regardless.

And Mahal, angered and disappointed in both Durin and Dani Dubun’Ibin changed his design of how dams would recognize their True One, and the soul-bonds of the line of Durin received a little extra burst.

 _Extra burst_. Ruby snorted.

Not even those of Durin’s folk, who were said to be notoriously oblivious to common sense and the call of their bonds could ignore the urgency and the single-minded determination to recognize their One when in their presence, Ruby now knew. She rubbed over her chest, almost expecting to be able to touch the gaping whole she felt in her heart. Where Dwalin’s presence had warmed her not long ago. It was all gone now. All Ruby felt now was cold emptiness and bitter loneliness. Worse, a thousand times worse than all the years at Tanner’s compound, before she found him and - briefly - shared this intense intimacy of mind and heart.

But she did not want to think about Dwalin, did not want to _remember_ how it had felt when he was near, the gentleness of his touch. It hurt too much. And so she did what she had done since the moment Tanner had taken her: she squashed her emotions, didn’t allow herself the luxury to wallow in the _pain_ of her memories.

It had been laughably easy to take apart the window in her bedroom and squeeze herself through the gap and out into the night: the window liner was thin, just thick enough to hold the glass pane in place, and the hardened putty had crumbled with age. The interior window trim was easily removed, her small knife and her boot suitable substitutes for a hammer and a pry bar, and the exterior trim was old wood, splintering in places and crumbling away in others, not offering much resistance.

Once the window was carefully and quietly put aside, Ruby was small enough to fit through the resulting gap - just.

Trusting her instincts and knowing that there were no dangers lurking in the dark in the Shire, Ruby made a beeline to the Brandywine Bridge. The night was clear and the waxing moon gave her enough light to see where she was going. She knew she had about eight hours head start before anyone would come into her room, and she had arranged her bed in such a way that it looked like she was still curled up in it, maybe even cheating another few hours for herself. Without the additional detour she had made from Buckleberry Ferry on her way to Bag End, Ruby made it to the border well before sunrise. Hiding in the bushes she observed the watch house for a little while: she could not see a single bounder, and only three on the bridge. The building had only a ground floor and was made of stone, the way the windows were arranged Ruby guessed that one side held some sleeping quarters and the larger part was occupied by a kitchen and a common room of sorts. Knowing that she had little time as any Hobbits sleeping inside would likely wake soon and be joined by their comrades from the bridge to indulge in first breakfast, she carefully slid closer. It didn’t take her long to get to the door and, after a careful peak around the corner, inside. Sure enough there were two large tables and benches and a door into the back, but Ruby’s focus was on the stove and the shelves beside it. With no Hobbit in sight Ruby was not lingering and grabbed two tea towels to wrap cheese, smoked sausages, bread, a few apples and a bag of nuts into bundles and slid out the room as quickly as she had come in.

When she hid herself in a dense gorse bush just behind the building and close to the bridge, her heart beat so loudly in her chest that she was sure it would give her away at any moment. Instead, the bounders stationed on the bridge seemed to have enough of waiting and made their way to the watch house. The last one had not even completely vanished inside when Ruby burst from her hiding place and raced across the bridge.

Expecting angry yells or orders to halt she couldn’t believe her luck when neither came. Immediately veering off the path and out of sight she held herself [north](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/fd/cb/3e/fdcb3eb9efc1eabc3c8ffad68014123c.jpg), running for some time, before she finally stopped. As the sun slowly crept up the hills on the horizon Ruby sat and ate a few bites of her bounty. Despite it all she smiled. The morning was mild, and the golden glow of the sunrise somewhat warmed her cold heart and one of the apples, although from last season and wrinkled, was sweet as summer.

She expelled a deep breath as she chewed. It was a relief to be out of the smial. Away from yet another place where she was not wanted, where she was an oddity, where she didn’t belong. Just as she never belonged in Tuckborough, in Bree and certainly not in Tanner’s compound. There was only one place she had ever truly belonged to, and that was the home in which she grew up. The home where her parents had lived and loved each other, and her. Yes, they had loved her. Ruby could not remember a day where she hadn’t been absolutely certain about her parents’ love for her.

There had been so much _warmth_.

Ruby knew well what frost could do to stone and deep roots, both. What it almost had managed to do in the long years at Tanner’s compound. She would no longer be made to stay in a place that was chilling her to the bones with tension and animosity. And as long as Thorin was around in Bag End, Bilbo Baggins’ smial would be just that, too.

 _But Dwalin isn’t cold_ , a little voice reminded her, sounding suspiciously wistful. _He’s warmth and gentle affection._

Ruby frowned; her good mood gone as quickly as it had come. Somehow the pain was even greater now, than before, the loneliness tasted even more bitter than before. Because now Ruby knew what it felt like to be warmed by the loving and caring attention of the one Mahal had made for her.

She rose and tossed the apple core, the sweetness of the fruit suddenly turning sickly, cloying. The lump in her throat grew bigger and she couldn’t help giving in to the emotions of her raw and bleeding heart. Only for her to swallow it all down again a heartbeat later, followed by a sudden, desperate urge to be where she had been completely accepted. As she rushed forward, letting her steps carry her north, along the edge of the Brandywine River, she let herself be embraced by the memories of happier times.

Voices were her first distinct memories; her Mama’s soft voice singing the light, cheerful songs of the Shire, and her Adad’s deep voice rolling over the rough consonants of the Khazad language. It was how she had learned much of Hobbits and Dwarrow, through listening and repeating, long before she could read.

Books had not been abundant in her home, but they had been present, and they had been cherished. Berylla’s infrequent visits to Rivendell and Bree had blessed them with a selection of rather unique books: a battered collection of Mannish stories of days of old, of poems from the Horselords of Rohan and songs from the city of Gondor far in the South. And a good dozen volumes in [Khuzdul](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lhammas#:~:text=Orom%C3%ABan%2C%20named%20after%20Orom%C3%AB%2C%20who,on%20the%20tongues%20of%20Men.), that had come straight from Lord Elrond’s library. Ruby had never met the Elf, was not allowed to travel with her Mama. _Yet_ , her parents had argued, while she was so young. Now, she had to wonder if she ever would have been allowed, or if the fear Lord Elrond might recognize her as a daughter of Thráin, son of Thrór, would have made her Adad insist she not go.

Well, she’d never find out and it didn’t matter now. Facing away from the Brandywine River and turning east towards the Southern Bree Hills Ruby marched on at a brisk pace, her eyes scanning over the tree line in the distance.

All the books Berylla had brought from Rivendell had been in Khuzdul. Apparently, they had been sitting in Lord Elrond’s library, possibly for centuries, in their original state, collecting dust, untouched and unread, because as Erestor, Lord Elrond’s Head of Library had told Berylla: ‘There are not many Non-Dwarves left with the skill to read their language, and who would bother to suffer through their harsh and cruel sounding words when one could read the Elvish translation?’ Mama had been incensed by the Elf’s arrogant attitude. Why the Elves would dare to find Khuzdul cumbrous and unpleasant, for all their love for language, was beyond her, when it was essentially a Vala-made tongue, devised by Mahal himself, long before Elves or Men awoke, in fact making Dwarrow the first sentient race to have their own spoken language. The books promptly made their way out of Rivendell, and Adad had loved nothing more than to tell the story about Berylla’s fury with that Elf with much satisfaction.

Thanks to those books, all of them written by Író Zirizarrab, Ruby learned her letters and her Cirth, and much of Khazad history. Apart from her love for stories, Ruby had always loved history best. Because through history, lessons could be learned. Adad did nothing but encourage her in that thought, especially when it came to Khazad stubbornness and pride, and their focus on crafting and amassing treasure. For no matter how much Mahal had instilled in his children the wish to discover and create, his design was not infallible, as the blunder of Durin Deathless proved.

Blood over Stone, damâm uru ‘aban, her Adad had reminded her every time she was late to come to the table because she couldn’t tear herself away from one of her precious books or one of the many tasks in the kitchen or the garden she so thoroughly enjoyed. Neither Dwarrow nor Hobbit hands liked to be idle, and there was nothing Ruby liked more than to lose herself in a task. _Value being with your loved ones_ , her Adad kept reminding her, _I know I do_.

Ruby’s eyes filled with tears at the memory. Yes, her Adad had loved just being in the presence of Mama and her. But knowing what she knew now Ruby couldn’t help but wonder if he ever thought about his other family.

Did he think of Thorin when he sat between Berylla and Ruby on the bench outside their home?

Did he think of ... Dís, his elder daughter?

Did he remember them fondly? With guilt? Was he glad he was away from them? Away from his Kingdom?

 _If Thorin always had that temper he might well have been_ , Ruby thought surly, only to chastise herself immediately. From what Nori told Thorin’s life had been far more complicated than that. She could almost understand his reaction to her existence. To him, it would have been a shock, far more than to her. He would have mourned his Adad, would have clung to the hope that he might return to them, only to have to eventually swallow the bitter pill of disappointment when he didn’t, without ever truly knowing what had happened to him. Yes, she could almost forgive Thorin for his anger towards her.

Almost.

But there was also a part of her that growled at the very thought, that wanted to slap him again, wanted to yell at him and tell him what a clot head he was being. If their Adad were here now they could direct all their confusion at him, could have him answer all their questions. As it were, they would have to wait until it was their time to join Mahal’s Halls. Until then they would have to accept that they shared the blood of Thráin, son of Thrór.

Blood over Stone it may well be, but Ruby had no doubt that Thorin gladly would not set eyes on her ever again. Neither would she on him, for that matter. The whole experience in Hobbiton had been a disaster, as far as she was concerned, and she’d gladly forget about it all, see to her own wellbeing and leave all that muddle behind.

 _But you miss Dwalin_ , the little voice reminded her. _He’s your One. You’ll not be rid of him that easily._

Setting her chin Ruby scowled as she made her way over gentle sloping hills, wading through thigh high, lush grass. She did not want to think about that, so she pushed any thought of Dwalin down, as she had taught herself pushing every emotion down while in Tanner’s compound. She stopped once more late in the day to eat a few bites, and by nightfall she curled up in a cluster of daisies at the bottom of one of the grassy mounds that dotted the landscape. The air was mild, but Ruby was cold and lonely, made even more miserable by the memory of the soft grass she sat in not a day prior when she was in Dwalin’s arms under Bilbo’s kitchen window. Ruby shivered, tears welling up in her eyes, unbidden. She pushed the memory to the back of her mind once more. No, she could not deal with that. Ruthlessly she squashed the memory of the feelings she had then, in his arms, when he kissed her. Her sleep was interrupted by dreams and the gentle swishing of the grass in a mild breeze. Clouds covered the sky, allowing not even the stars to keep her company.

She was up with the sun the next morning. By midday she came near the old Hillshire Ruins, but left them in her back to turn north. Slowly, the landscape changed from sloping, grassy hills to open, light-filled woods. Ruby smiled as the area became more and more familiar to her. As she walked her steps slowed from the hurried pace she had set after her escape the day prior, to a more relaxed stride. This was her home, here she knew every rock and every tree, and every step was a homecoming. This was where Thráin had taught her how to orientate herself, how to read a map and find her way in the wilds. He’d carry her, blindfolded, far away from home, to set her down in the middle of a meadow, or on top of a rolling hill, or surrounded by trees, took off her blindfold and told her to make her way back home. He’d stay with her, of course, and Ruby would never forget the intense look in his eyes the moment her feet touched the ground, nor the amused twinkle when she needed no more than a few heartbeats to turn to the right direction. _You are one of a kind,_ _dazbith_ , he told her once, a gentle hand on the messy braids on her head, and a soft smile on his lips, but also a serious glimmer in his eyes. Finding her way back then had not been a hardship, and even being locked up at Tanner’s compound for all this time didn’t affect her skills. Ruby’s stone sense always immediately pointed out the long, dense line of the Misty Mountains. Together with all the other ranges and hills it drew an immediate map in her mind. Next she’d sense waterways or lakes, who in turn had her sense focus on the roots of trees, that dug deep to find stability and nourishment. She’d never gotten lost anywhere, ever.

And she wouldn’t now.

The forest grew denser during the day, and Ruby eyed many a large tree that had been brought down by winter storms over the last decade. She had to climb over several to keep her course, not willing to make detours. Leaves littered the ground and she rejoiced stomping her feet through them, making the crumbling foliage fly; a child’s game, and amusing for adults, too. Little enough had amused her during the last ten years.

As the forest grew denser, Ruby rejoiced in observing the odd squirrel and woodpecker, stopped often to tilt her head back and marvel at the thick canopy and inhaling deeply to breathe in the earthy smell of the forest. 

A tender joy crept into her heart, one she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. She felt her shoulders relax and her lips curl into a smile. _Home_. There was just nothing like it.

Trying to picture the first glimpse of her home in her mind Ruby let out a shaky breath. No, it would not all be relief and happiness. The memory of the day she left sprung to the forefront of her mind, making her vision blurry. She let out a shaky breath.

What would she find at her return?

She could not see the sun under the thick canopy of the old trees in the forest, but she knew it was nearing late afternoon when she increased her speed, eager to get there, eager to see, to know for sure.

She stepped around an upturned root, climbed over another tree trunk and sped across a mossy patch and along what used to be the path she used to take nearly every day.

Another step, a snap and a creak.

Ruby’s stomach turned over with cold horror when she felt something snag around her ankle and she suddenly found herself hanging upside down several feet off the ground. Before she could exclaim in surprise, pain exploded on her head, and the deep regret to never get to know Dwalin was the last thought before she lost consciousness.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dani Dubun’Ibin – Dani Gentle Gem  
> dazbith - diamond that is young
> 
> Again, I’m using the same map as in previous chapters. All rights www.lotrointerface.com
> 
> Couldn’t help myself putting a bit of Silmarillion-esque history in here. Ruby loves her stories, and the creation of Arda can be considered a story. Her upbringing may have been happy and fulfilled, but it was small, and books and stories would have been a very important part of it. For any who are familiar with The Silmarillion as well as the countless others that have either never read it or gave up trying to keep track of the many characters: I've tagged the link to an excellent and highly entertaining summary. 
> 
> And isn’t Ruby a lot like Thorin? I find, as I write their POV’s, their thought process is surprisingly similar. 
> 
> Now that I brought up the Silmarillion I want to remind that another explanation of why Thorin and Bilbo fell in love (even though they are not One, of the same gender, of different races) is that Mahal’s creation is flawed; he had not fully thought through what he was doing when he made the first Dwarrow, and only had a sketchy understanding of how Eru had planned the first and second born. Again, I’m directing anyone who cares for this sort of stuff to a later chapter of the above fabulous summary of the Silmarillion. I've also tagged it in the text above, at the first mention of Mahal. 
> 
> The bit about Khuzdul being the first and Vala-made language is correct. Tolkien changed his mind about the Elves: first Oromë taught them (an already existing language) and later the Elves invented their own. You can read more about this in Tolkien’s Lhammas following the tag.


	22. Giving Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to catch a Dwobbit

(Dwalin)

As soon as they left Bag End Nori determined that the only place he could think her going to was to the home she grew up in.

_Her home._

_Where she had lived with her parents._

Dwalin agreed, not that it mattered, since they didn’t know where that home was and therefore couldn’t simply go there to meet up with her. But Nori ventured a guess and Dwalin was too numb and dumbfounded to do anything but hurry after the swift-footed ex-thief. They made it to the Brandywine Bridge in what felt like the blink of an eye on ponies that Gimli had organized in even less time, but really, the sun already stood high in the sky.

The Brandywine Bridge was the only point of crossing the Brandywine, apart from Buckleberry Ferry, but Nori said he had a hunch and Dwalin believed him. They found the bounders in an uproar after bits of the food stores in their watch house were missing. Hungry Hobbits were like wargs and they snarled accusations at each other, as bread, hard cheese, cured meats and apples were reported missing.

Exchanging a meaningful look they left the Shire and Nori began searching for tracks. But Ruby Makhdûna was a Hobbit indeed, because she barely left any, boots or not. It was late afternoon when an exceedingly frustrated Nori stumbled across a partial Hobbit boot print in the soft mud next to the Brandywine, well north of the bridge. Finally having a direction of sorts they followed a vague tail of the odd broken twig on a shrub or flattened grass or disturbed gravel. Dwalin rarely felt so useless in his life because there was little he could do other than stumble dumbly after Nori who was focused, sharp eyes constantly searching, searching the ground, searching the shrubbery, for any signs of disturbed leaves or the slightest shade of a footprint. Dwalin never had the nerve for hunting, other than setting snares and waiting for his meal to come to him. Often, they go into one direction for some time, only to double back to the last visible trace and search for more tracks once more, Nori cursing under his breath the whole time.

When the sun began to set and it was getting too dark Nori sighed. “You must sense something,” he said as they settled down for a restless night in a grassy ditch with their backs against a cluster of trees, glancing briefly at Dwalin. “Even if she shuts you out, you must feel some sort of sense of which way she’s headed?” It sounded almost desperate.

Dwalin slowly shook his head and slumped down, leaning against a tree trunk. “I cannot feel her,” he said, his voice rough. “She continues to shield herself from me.” He remembered Gimli’s words. “Gimli told me his Amad is never angrier then when Glóin puts up his walls and locks her out. I can understand why. But I can also understand why Ruby cuts me off like that.”

Nori hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose.” He shrugged when Dwalin gave him an incredulous look. “I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it. You’ve not seen that place, Dwalin. Tanner’s compound. To survive in that place, she could not allow herself to falter, to despair, to get distracted with thoughts and emotions. She had to stay focused, stay strong. For ten years she would have lived from day to day, chore to chore, always ready to duck out of the way at the first sign of trouble, staying low and invisible, never speak up and never talk back. No tears, no desperate outburst, no anger. Had only ever herself and her instincts to trust. With what happened, me thinks her subconscious thinks it’s a similar situation.” The accusing look Nori cut across to Dwalin made the warrior narrow his eyes. “She’d feel quite betrayed after you neglected telling her Thorin is the King. And her _half-brother_.”

Dwalin’s temper flared and he cursed harshly, causing Nori’s braided eyebrows to rise up in his forehead. “It was not my place to tell her. I had hoped his grumpy arseness comes around,” he barked. “Besides, when, really, was I to tell her? We saw each other for the first time two days ago, when she came running up Bagshot Row like a battalion of orcs was chasing after her, clearly making for Thorin, only to suddenly bypass him and jump into my arms. She declared herself to be mine and bloody kissed me senseless. Then she introduced herself, fainted, ran off again as soon as she realized Dori was your brother, shoving your bead at us, she slapped the bounder she had kicked in the stones earlier that day, had me promise to take her with me when we leave to search for you, slapped Thorin, fell asleep in my arms, totally done with exhaustion, had nightmares, had a very early morning bonding cook with Bilbo, who had a bad row with his husband, and then we left. There really wasn’t the right time to say: hey, by the way, Thorin is actually the King of Durin’s folk and he’s also your half-brother, because Thráin is also his father. Thráin, whom we lost when Balin and I and a bunch of others accompanied him East over a century ago. He disappeared on us after months of incoherent ramblings, outbursts of anger and all sorts of childlike nonsense, and we couldn’t find him even though we searched for him for weeks. Sorry I though he was dead for over a century, but I’m glad he wasn’t and found your mother, who happens to be Bilbo’s aunt, and, well, made you. Now, I’m certainly not the smooth talker in the family, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the way to deliver a news like that.” Dwalin breathed hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke that much. Long rants were Thorin’s thing.

Nori stared at him, surprised and a little amused, and snorted. “I see your point.” He rummaged through his pack and handed over a few slices of bread and smoked sausages. Dwalin accepted them with a nod. He was not really hungry, but they had been on their feet all day, and likely would be on their feet all day tomorrow. He was already lacking sleep, definitely wouldn’t catch even a wink this night and probably none until they caught up with Ruby. The food would keep up his strength, at least.

“I wouldn’t worry too much though,” Nori said after they ate in silence for a while, while night descended all around them. “The lass wants to belong so badly, she’s ready to forget and forgive anything. In this, she’ll be more Hobbit than Khazad.”

Dwalin wasn’t so sure about that, but he was sure he wouldn’t let his One out of his sight again once they found her. No matter what. No matter who’d he be offending or what bridges he had to burn. It would be Ruby Makhdûna and him, until the day they would make their way into the Halls and forever after.

As expected, the night was uncomfortable, brought no sleep, and was over the moment the darkness turned from pitch black to a light grey. Dwalin couldn’t sit still any longer, so he paced until it was light enough for Nori to see any more of Ruby’s tracks. It was slow going, their confidence bolstered only when they found a discarded apple core, already half munched up by bugs.

They turned east after recognizing a partial boot print, away from the Brandywine River. Gently sloping hills lay before them as wide as the eyes could see, but a relatively clear trail through the high, lush grass gave an indication of Ruby’s path.

“She can’t be more than half a day ahead of us,” Nori muttered as he crouched next to a piece of hard cheese rind in a ditch with a distinct area of flattened grass and squashed flowers; Ruby must have spent the night there. And yes, Dwalin could only agree with Nori. Because of the trail she left but also because occasionally he was sure he had a very vague sense of her direction, not as if her mind was tickling the edge of his awareness, but a compelling _urge_ to turn his feet a certain way.

His mood plummeted though. During the day he began to suspect it wasn’t truly his mood that plummeted, but an echo of Ruby’s mood. And he didn’t like it much. Because what he felt was not a peaceful, calm, hopeful, cheerful emotion. What he sensed coming from Ruby Makhdûna were occasional tiny ripples of waves of hurt and doubt, anger and despair. It sure darkened his mood as much as a thick cover of clouds darkened the sky, even though those ripples were brief. No more than an instinct that didn’t make sense and that he couldn’t explain, like a thought that escaped before one could put it into words.

Like sand falling through his hands.

They had no choice but stop for the night, hoping Ruby did, too, otherwise their gaining on her would be for naught. Come morning they continued to follow the trail through the grassy hills of the Southern Bree-Fields and were surprised when it veered north, leaving some sort of ruins of days long gone in their backs. Dwalin had travelled a lot in his lifetime, but he had not ever ventured this way. There were no villages, no settlements, to his knowledge not even woodcutters’ camps.

_No wonder Thráin’s presence went unnoticed for decades._

The landscape slowly changed from grassy slopes to open, light-filled woods. Nori was stumped once more and grew increasingly frustrated. Dwalin, deciding to trust his gut, pointed into a direction and once that was confirmed by a reasonably clear boot print next to some squished moss, he knew for certain that those vague tickles in his mind were truly his Ruby and that he could sense her over a distance.

“It’s really quite rare, this,” Nori muttered as they climbed over a large tree trunk brought down by winter storms, which had the most impressive rings of age Dwalin had ever seen. It also bore clear signs of someone having climbed over not long ago: scraped bark and damaged moss indicating where Ruby’s feet had slipped as she climbed over it. The Spymaster lead the way and Dwalin made the rear, making sure to leave a clear trail for the others to follow. “The strength of your connection, considering you’ve only just met.”

Dwalin shrugged, trudging through the thick leaf cover of a forest growing denser the more they ventured on. What was he to say? He had no clue about bonds, Blessed or otherwise, he was just rolling with the punches, trusting his gut, as he had done all his life.

“Mahal has had a hand in her making, Dwobbit or not.”

“Dwobbit?” Nori barked a laugh.

“It’s what she calls herself,” Dwalin muttered as they ducked under low hanging branches, sending squirrels scurrying.

Nori was silent for a moment. “It’s apt. And I have a suspicion about some Hobbits not being quite as pure of blood as Shirefolk generally believe.”

That was news to Dwalin. “There’s more Dwobbits?”

Nori shrugged. “There might have been in the past. That Bullroarer and his size and feats in battle sound so wholly unHobbitish that I’m almost willing to bet my breeches he had more than a few drops of Dwarrow-blood in him.”

Dwalin stared. He had heard all about the Bullroarer Took of course, whose portrait hung in Bilbo’s parlour. By all accounts, that distant relative had been larger than life, not referring to his stature alone. If Nori was right and any Dwarrow traits had come into the Shire though the Bullroarer and his many descendants, it was not in such a way that it was significantly _obvious_.

But Ruby ...

“She is Ruby Makhdûna,” Dwalin simply said by way of clumsy explanation, pausing at the sound of a woodpecker in the distance. “Thráin would not have given her that name if she didn’t deserve it.” This was true. No dwarf would bestow an epithet if it wasn’t deserved and an honour to Mahal and all Khazad, and Thráin had always held particularly with the somewhat more pompous traditions of their race.

The old Thráin did, anyway.

“Could be,” Nori muttered. “Thráin would have known his daughter and caught up that her senses just generally were stronger. She definitely has makansul. There’s no telling how far it goes. What does she see when she holds her Adad’s makers mark? And she was put in charge of quality control for the smithing work at Tanner’s compound. Bilbo is clever, has learned much of our ways, but he would never be able to do this sort of work. Don’t know if Thráin taught her smithing work but there’s no doubt she knows her way around a forge.”

Dwalin hummed, distracted with picturing Ruby Makhdûna in a forge, raven hair bound back, face sweaty from the fire’s heat and blue eyes shining in concentration. But Nori had the right of it. One couldn’t learn how to sense metal, and only those of Khazad blood could do it. And hadn’t he himself felt Ruby’s sense stretch out under her feet to get a feel of the stone that lay far below under Hobbiton’s fertile soil, farther than Dwalin’s own stone sense could reach? If she had the same senses for anything Hobbit-related, like growing things and plants, she would have been blessed not only by Mahal, but by the Lady Yavanna as well and the epithet her Adad had given her was indeed truly well deserved.

As they rushed through the increasingly dense growing forest, stumbling over uneven ground and avoiding tree trunks sticky with sap, Dwalin could sense Ruby’s direction more and more. Whether it was because he got the hang of it or whether it was because her hurt and anger diminished a little and she lowered her walls, or a bit of both, Dwalin didn’t know and honestly didn’t care. He took it as the gift it was and used it to gauge her direction, enabling him and Nori to move as fast as the terrain allowed, trying to make up for lost time.

“Two, three hours, at the most,” Nori confirmed around what must have been midday on the third day of their pursuit, as they checked near a stream in an area thick with ferns, where disturbed pebbles were a sign somebody had been kneeling for a drink. “I’d not have suspected her to go this way, to be honest. We’re far away from any village, any settlement.”

They settled in for a short break, and to drink and refill their water pouches. Dwalin took a deep breath of the earthy, woodsy smell of the forest and decaying laves when it happened: Butter and sugar exploded in his mouth just before a sudden dread washed over him. The feeling of immense distress and naked fear echoed through Dwalin’s mind and brought him to his knees with a gasp. Crippling panic, followed by a blistering pain around his ankle left him cloying for breath. The sheer volume of Ruby’s emotions after days and hours of empty nothingness nearly brought his heart to a stop and the raging pain echoing through Ruby’s soul nearly burned his chest from the inside out.

A surge of bitter sorrow and remorse from his Blessed One had him choke and Dwalin couldn’t help but dry heave.

“Dwalin?” Nori was next to him instantly, grabbing his arm. “What’s happening?”

“I feel her,” the warrior managed to rasp, as he let himself be pulled to his feet by the wily dwarf. “For a moment ... fear and panic ... and then pain.” Dwalin scrubbed a rough hand over his suddenly sweaty face and forced himself to stand on shaking legs. “It’s all silent again. Mahal, it felt like ... cut off like-“ He faltered, nausea rising once more. “No, it can’t be. She just can’t-.

Nori was already shouldering his pack, chin set in a determined line. “Which way?”

Dwalin stilled, listening into his soul. “That way,” he pointed east. They rushed along. Through the dense forest, over fallen trees and around upturned roots. Not even bothering to search for Ruby’s tracks which they would have been hard pressed to find amongst the dense trees, where barely a shaft of sunlight made it to the ground to help them in their search, Dwalin lead the way into the direction where he _knew_ she was. While he could no longer feel her emotions, he felt _her_. There was no doubt. He felt her _presence_ so close that he could almost taste her scent on his tongue. _Butter and sugar_. It was getting dark under the dense canopy, but still they continued their chase.

So fixated on holding on to the feel of her he was, that Dwalin made little effort to keep his pursuit quiet, nor did he spend time to continue keeping their own track visible for Bilbo and the others to follow. Nori though did both. Dwalin knew he’d never been so grateful for the ex-thief as he was now, not that he would ever tell him.

It was Nori who suddenly threw himself in Dwalin’s path, stopping him - a feat in itself because Dwalin was much of rolling bolder when on the move - and holding up a cautious hand. Nori sniffed the air and Dwalin immediately caught the scent of wood smoke when he did the same. A fire. Fear gripped his heart then. It was unlikely to be Ruby’s fire. Who had she stumbled across in this wilderness? Brigands? Trolls?

Nori took over the lead now. He crept quietly forward, using tree trunks, ferns and raspberry brambles as cover, and Dwalin did his best to follow his example. He wasn’t exactly the stealthy type, but he could be silent if he needed to be.

The leavy canopy of the thick trees suddenly opened up like a secret grove. The orange glow of a sizeable campfire gave just enough light to reveal a clearing. The dark shadow of what seemed to be a log cabin. It looked sturdy and might have been a home once, still with flower troughs under the windows. But it clearly was second to the house at the opposite side of the clearing, just visible in the light, even to Dwalin’s Dwarrow-eyes: they as well as his stone sense told him of the stone foundation, moving as high as the bottom of the large square windows. The eaves of one side of the steepled roof pulled all the way down to the ground. The solid, sturdy construction of a stone chimney drew the gaze to the top but got lost in the darkness. There was a chest-high fence around the house and garden, consisting of a hodgepodge of stone, woven willow and iron lattice. Behind it, just visible, was a covered porch large enough to hide the door in its shadow.

Tall figures moved around the clearing.

Men.

And as Dwalin’s alert warrior eyes roamed from one thing to the next his gaze settled at the fire and narrowed at the small figure slouched there.

 _Ruby_.

Her arms were at an odd angle behind her back, her face was half covered by her black hair.

And she was _not moving_.

Without realizing Dwalin reached for his axes.

Nori’s hands stilled him. _No_. Erebor’s Spy Master signed in Iglishmêk.

Dwalin narrowed his eyes at him. _Nobody takes my Ruby captive. We free her._

 _We will. But not on our own. Too many for us to take on._ He pointed out several still figures just outside the lit circle of the fire. More Men, sleeping, Dwalin realized. _We wait until the others catch up. Nothing will happen till morning._

Grinding his teeth and growling low in his throat Dwalin settled down in dense overgrowth behind a thick tree. Nori was right, and Dwalin did not like it at all. His hands gripped the handles of his so hard that his knuckles turned white. The leather of his knuckledusters creaked ominously under the strain.

The hours seemed to crawl and Dwalin was sure to lose his mind when they passed and Ruby did not stir. The figures of the Men were in no rush. They settled in for the night, clearly not overly concerned at anyone coming up on them. Nori slunk of several times throughout the night, to circle the perimeter, check out their opponent and snuck back the way they came from to include some warnings for their troupe that, hopefully, was not far off.

 _Eleven_ , he signed after one such scouting mission. _All Men. The house has a Hobbit garden and the stonework of the walls is Khazad._

Nori didn’t have to say it. This was Ruby’s home. The home where she grew up with Berylla Took and Thráin, son of Thrór. They nodded at each other in silent understanding and Dwalin sighed inwardly. Yes, he could understand that she’d gone back to the only home she ever had. But it hurt his soul to think that she felt where he was _wasn’t_ home, because he certainly felt that way about her. But he understood. Yesterday had been a mess and much mending would be needed to fix it.

As Nori had foretold nothing happened until morning. Only when night turned into daybreak movement sprung up in the camp. As the early sun bathed the clearing in gentle light, revealing a few roof tiles dislodged by winter snows and a garden overgrown with weeds, the Men slowly began their day.

All of them were armed, Dwalin saw, with spare swords, lances and axes conveniently nearby. Rations were handed out and one of them took up the prime spot by the fire, which was stirred up high. That fellow wore more elaborate clothes than the others, a vest even, and a coat that was longer than the norm, giving him a casual, carefree appearance. He seemed middle aged, and Dwalin had a feeling he knew the thin face and the dark moustache from somewhere. Before he could dwell on it, however, the man gave some commands and two of his thugs promptly sprang into action. A bucket of water was brought - and tipped out over the slumped figure of his One. With a gasp and a splutter, Ruby woke.

Dwalin winced when he saw her grimace as she wanted to touch her head but found herself bound, almost tasting her momentary panic. One man roughly pushed her into a sitting position against the tree she had been lying next to. She was visibly dazed and blinked rapidly to clear her head and her vision. The dark red of the blood on her forehead stood out stark against her pale face.

As she struggled against her bonds and gasped because of the pain she would be feeling in her head Dwalin had an extremely hard time keeping calm.

The man at the fire gave her a fake cheerful wave and a wide smile that chilled Dwalin to the bones. “Hello Ruby.”

The expression on his One’s face at the sound of the voice was one of shock and naked horror. Her mouth opened and she choked out one word. “Tanner.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought there was drama in this story before … think again 😉


	23. Stuff of Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When getting away from drama does not mean you escape your troubles

(Ruby)

A rush of cold water into her face woke her. Ruby instinctively wanted to rub her eyes and momentarily panicked when she couldn’t move her hands; the realization that they were tied behind her back brought back the memory with a vengeance: The trap she’d stepped in and the rope that pulled her up by her ankle until she dangled upside down in the trees. The soul crushing awareness that she could die soon and the bitter sorrow about not having had the time to get to know Dwalin better when the figures of Men came into her view. The intense regret of having run away from her One. A hard hit on her head that had her cry out in pain and then nothing until now.

Spluttering and coughing past the water on her face Ruby managed to squint through wet eyes and strands of hair that stuck to her skin. Early morning sun bathed the clearing in soft light. She was lying against a tree; her mind sensed the roots in the ground under her body, and her fingers felt the rough bark behind her. A chill settled in her bones, but it was not only from having lain on the mossy ground all night. The warmth the smoking fire in front of her emitted didn’t help much and Ruby squinted to make out the figure sitting across from her, behind the fire.

Rough hands grabbed her and set her upright. Ruby felt dizzy, for a moment not sure about the direction of up and down. Not sure about her senses either. Maybe the hit on her head had been harder than just to cause her to be knocked out, because she thought she could _feel_ Dwalin nearby. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Wishful thinking, nothing else. He wouldn’t be here, couldn’t be. And might not _want to be_ anywhere near her now, after she’d run off as she had, away from him. What One did that, running away from the person Mahal himself had deemed a perfect fit for them? Apart from that though Ruby knew that both her parents would be disappointed in her for not staying to face the music like an adult. Instead, she had behaved childish, thinking she could avoid being hurt by turning her back without giving Dwalin a chance to talk to her, to tell his side of things.

And Bilbo.

Her cousin had been so nice to her, she could not imagine he had made up the fact that he seemed to truly want to get to know her. And Balin had said they would have much to discuss, after dealing with the more pressing issue of finding Nori and Kirvi.

But she had run off like a fool.

Ruby’s stomach churned with remorse and dread and she felt slightly nauseous; even more so when her gaze focused enough to be able to recognize the man across from her, on the other side of the fire.

“Hello Ruby,” Tanner greeted her with exaggerated friendliness when their eyes met. His mouth curled into a smirk at her shock, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. “Fancy seeing you here.” He took his time to stuff his pipe and lite it with a burning twig from the fire before his eyes settled on her again. He nodded at someone behind her and Ruby felt harsh hands grip her cruelly once more and pull her up and away from the tree and sat her down across from Tanner.

“Good to see you’re hale,” Tanner commented with pretended serenity after long moments of tense silence, “considering the state my compound was in.” He took a deep draught from his pipe and blew out the smoke leisurely. “Imagine my surprise when we returned and found it in ashes, my dogs dead from poison, my men dead from axes and knives, blown to smithereens or burnt to a crisp.” He exhaled slowly, his hard eyes fixed on her. “No dwarf. No Ruby.” Pausing he shifted and stretched out his legs. “Or should I say dwarves.”

She swallowed through a throat that constricted with dread but gave no response.

“Yes, I know that two bearded smiths were taken into my ... service. Not sure what Iffan thought when he took two, they clearly were more than just smiths. Serves him right he got his throat slit.”

“I don’t know what they were,” Ruby offered, too quickly, biting her lip as she immediately realized her mistake.

“Hmm.” Tanner’s dark eyes said clearly he didn’t believe her but was willing to play along. He always liked to play with his prey. And prey was exactly what Ruby felt like just now, what she had always felt like around Tanner. “If that’s the case I’m not sure why you weren’t waiting for me right next to the smoking pile of rubble. Also not sure what made you think that I wouldn’t find you.” The man kept his tone light but the dark, dangerous undertone in his voice was as clear and threatening as if he had shouted at her. “You should have known this would be the first place I’d look for you.”

_Yes, I should have._

With dread Ruby realized in all her efforts to get away from the drama’s in Hobbiton she’d not escape her troubles. Certainly not when coming here, the one place Tanner knew she’d would return to at some stage.

“Here’s what I think,” Tanner said after another few drags from his pipe. “Them two beards were of a different sort than the ones that came before them. They came with a purpose. They came with a plan. I doubt their plan included you, because who would bother about a nobody like you, but somehow you managed to bewitch them into including you in their grand escape. Of course, afterwards they immediately figured out that you’re useless to them and left you to fend for yourself in the wilds. And since you have no friends and no family and nobody who cares about you, you came back to the one place where it all began. You really are pathetic.” He chuckled lowly and Ruby wanted to cry at how ruthlessly he spelt out the truth. She was pathetic. “Regardless of what exactly happened at my compound, the fact remains that I’m down a lot of men. That I lost the means to run my enterprise. Because of you.” Tanner stated. “You and your family have been nothing but a curse to me and mine,” he said, his tone getting cold enough to freeze the air before him. “First your mother snares my sister’s man-“

“They were not married,” Ruby interrupted, boldly lifting her chin. She had not known Bruner Egger, the furrier her mother had met long before she had been with her Adad, but Mama had told her about him and their life in his log cabin, which turned into their storage space of sorts when Adad built the house.

Tanner ignored her, tapping out his pipe in curt, angry motions. “My sister had born him four children already when he decided he wasn’t wanting her and left the village to move into his cabin in the woods.”

Ruby knew the smart thing would have been to be quiet. To take Tanner’s lies and not talk back. But to listen to anyone insult her Mama just like that _simply wasn’t her_. She balled her fists behind her back and her mouth opened before she could stop herself. “Your sister tried to bind him to herself by falling pregnant. Bruner loved his kids, Mama told me. But he didn’t love your sister.”

Tanner was on his feet in a flash, his eyes flashing angrily. “Shut up! Any lass that mingles with another race is the loose sort, everyone knows that. Your mother was nothing more than a home wrecking, vile seductress. And you. You killed my sister!” He spat the words, pointing a finger at her accusingly.

Ruby winced and recoiled at his words “It was an accident,” she cried, the guilt she had suppressed for so long surging painfully. “She was trying to take Mama’s beads, wanted to steal them, and I just pushed her away. She fell and hit her head on the table. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I only wanted her to go _away_.” The image of the woman’s face, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, her body lifeless on the kitchen floor, was seared into her brain forever.

Tanner tucked the pipe into the inside pocket of his coat and stalked around the fire. Ruby drew back and tried to shuffle backwards, only to be stopped by cruel hands on her arms yanking her to her feet and Tanner’s fist grabbing the front of her tunic. “Because of you my sister’s children had to grow up without a mother. Because of you I found no wife because what woman would want a man who already cares for four children? It was only fair that you spent your days working for me. And we made a bargain, remember? You gave me your _word_ to not run away. We shook on it. I’ve kept my end of it and left your house standing. But you broke yours. And now I don’t feel inclined to hold up my end anymore.” He dragged her across the clearing, closer to the house, until they were just a few feet from the fence and what once had been the front gate. She struggled, tried to dig her heels in but it was no use. From the corner of her eyes Ruby saw Tanner’s men come closer, drawn in by the spectacle, uncaring for her plight. Waving his free hand demandingly at someone behind her Tanner was handed a lit torch. His grip was relentless, and he shook her before dropping her like a sack, lifting the torch threateningly.

Ruby fell on her knees. “No,” she sobbed, begging. “No, please. It’s all I have left. Please don’t take that away from me.”

He stared at her. “Poor you,” he said darkly. Then he chuckled and threw the torch aside, laughing loudly when Ruby’s eyes widened in shock and hopeful longing. “Good I’m feeling generous today. I won’t burn down your precious little home.” He crouched down before her and she flinched away from him. “She’s still inside, you know,” he said with a cold, cruel softness. “Still exactly where you left her.”

Ruby choked on her inhale, sorrow constricting her throat. Her eyes filled with tears and a faint flow of fury and compassion tickled into her conscience.

_It feels like ..._

_No. It can’t be._

Ruby blinked, confused, and tried to zone in on those emotions that were not hers, but her attempts were interrupted when Tanner’s hand grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her close. With is face so close, the memories of that last hug, that last embrace before he had taken her away from the only home she had ever known with exactly the same gesture cloyed her senses and she couldn’t hold in a sob.

“Yes,” Tanner almost whispered as he greedily took in her anguished expression. “Almost as if the past ten years hadn’t happened. She’s still inside, in her bed, just as she was back then. Just what you were hoping for when you came back here, wasn’t it.” Ruby shivered, gasping for breath against the lump in her throat.

Tanner stood again, taking a step back from her and inhaling deeply. “But there’s still a debt you have to pay. My sister is still dead. And even if I won’t burn down your pathetic little place, mine is still gone because of you. Those damnable beards you’re so fond of destroyed my place and killed my Men.”

“It’s not my fault,” Ruby whispered, trembling.

“We both know that’s a lie,” he sneered.

“It’s not my fault!” She shouted, anger and pain and _desperation_ surging through her.

“Hm, maybe I believe you. That doesn’t change the fact that I am out of a very lucrative business and you and I both know what I need to build it up again.” His eyes flickered to her chest.

Ruby shook her head as understanding dawned on her, at the same time as a sudden flood of anger washed against her mind, hot as forge fire, unbreakable as ancient rock.

“No,” she said hoarsely, fighting down that other emotion, and shuffled away from him, but Tanner dug a cruel hand into her hair at the back of her head and dragged her back to the spot at his feet. “How about we make another deal,” Tanner tipped his chin with the forefinger of his free hand in mock thought, “I let you go free, to live your little life in this pathetic little place of yours, I will never come back for you and I will consider us even from this day forth. But you give me that cursed stamp around your neck.”

 _No!_ She fought then, struggling to get out from his grip as her scalp hurt. “Never,” she said and grit her teeth.

Tanner clicked his tongue before he laughed humorlessly. He yanked her up so she was face to face with him, her feet dangling helplessly in the air. The pain at her scalp was nearly unbearable. It felt as if all her hair was ripped out at once. She couldn’t suppress a pained scream, but it was cut off by the painful pressure of Tanner’s hand around her neck.

“Let’s not forget that I can simply wring your filthy little Halfdwarven neck and take it by force. But good and generous soul that I am I am giving you a choice. Your home stays in one piece, you get to life with your mother’s corpse, can pretend the past ten years never happened. You’ll never see me again. And I get that dwarven stamp. You will give it to me voluntarily, and with your blessing.” He shook her that her teeth rattled. “If you don’t agree, I’ll burn down this place with your dead mother inside and take you with me. I’ll find another nice little clearing somewhere and build another compound with a productive new forge. And you’ll get to live there, too, cook and wash and clean for my men, and give a helping hand at the forge, just like in that lovely arrangement we’ve had previously. How about that?” He shook her again. “What’s it going to be, hm, little oddity? Last time you chose the phony honour of your dead dwarven father over holding your mother’s hands at the of her life and a chance to bury her with dignity. I bet you were hoping any of those beards we kept in the forge was going to safe you. Stupid, naive girl. As if they would care about the likes of you. Are you going to choose your mother’s corpse this time? What’s it going to be?” He yelled and shook her again. And when she didn’t respond, couldn’t around the hand that choked her and because she had no response to give, he pushed her into the muddy-soft earth at his feet so hard that she yelped, the side of her face hitting the mud. Before Ruby could find her balance and the strength to right herself Tanner’s heavy boot on her head held her in place, mud squelching under her chin and quelling into her nostrils and mouth when she gasped in pain.

“I’ll make that decision for you then,” she heard him say, “and will right my own mistake from when I put that chain on you to make sure you know your place.”

Rough hands reached for her neck and yanked on the chain, making her sob in pain and desperation. Tears sprung to her eyes and Ruby dimly saw two men step closer, holding a wooden mullet and a heavy iron wedge.

“No,” she choked around the mud in her mouth and fought desperately against the rough hands holding her down. Mud squelched under her cheek, but Tanner’s boot was relentless. She felt as if her head was going to get squashed under his sole. Someone placed a large, thick plank of wood right next to her head and Tanner draped the chain across it. Not moving anymore out of fear the mallet would hit her head if she thrashed too badly Ruby froze and watched in agony as one link of the chain was pried open by several dozen heavy blows. The men stepped back, and Ruby felt the chain sliding off from around her neck, grabbed by Tanner who finally took his boot of her head. Her bonds were cut. Ruby stumbled back, spitting out the mud and wiping the dirt and tears from her face with numb fingers. Her legs shook and her chest heaved but she threw herself against Tanner with a furious scream and her fists raised.

Only to run into his flat hand. She almost spun round her own axis with the force of the blow and fell to her knees. Sobbing and shaking with anger and desperation she dizzily staggered to her feet again and stormed towards Tanner once more as he was giving orders to leave.

She couldn’t let him leave!

 _It is yours after my passing, rugnagun. Make sure it doesn’t fall into any other hands as long as you live_.

_I cannot let him leave!_

Tanner barely acknowledged her, but his gaze was cold as he raised his arm again, his hand balled into a fist this time. Ruby closed her eyes, ready for the impact, suddenly wondering if he’d meant to kill her anyway, when he suddenly screamed in pain and when she dared to look an arrow stuck from his wrist!

She blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the sight before her.

At that moment the clearing rang with Khazad war cries. “Du Bekar!”

The perception of her One’s emotions slammed into her - paralyzing fear, boiling anger and furious determination - at the same time as the realization that those other sensations had indeed been _him_ all along.

Through the mud on her face and the tears Ruby saw Dwalin storming out from the tree line, axes raised and powerful warrior body readied in attack. Livid fury had the muscles in his face twitch, his teeth were bared in a snarl and his eyes flashed like granite imbued with diamond dust. He looked strong and fierce and like one of the pictures of ancient Khazad warriors of legend come to life.

He was magnificent. 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Tanner. I guess nobody likes him? And Ruby: looks like the knock on her head has brought her to her senses and she realizes that running away had not been the smartest move.
> 
> rugnagun - tiny chin (pride)
> 
> Bruner Eggert is Berylla’s furrier, the man she lived with before Thráin. I named him after Eggert Feldskeri, which is an islandic family business that deals in lamb skin, fish leather and a variety of furs. And yes, we’ll still find out more about Berylla later.


	24. Reunion Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are not always happy

(Dwalin)

The night had already been bad but once Tanner woke Ruby the situation had turned into a nightmare far worse than any dark dreams Dwalin had ever had.

Nori was tense beside him but kept a warning hand on his shoulder at all times all the same. Aye, Nori had the right of it: it was clear that Tanner had an agenda and killing Ruby was not part of it.

 _Yet_.

The conversation revealed plenty that made Dwalin hate Tanner even more than he already did. Yes, he remembered now where he knew him from: he was the [cooper](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cooper_\(profession\)) in Archet, the most isolated and removed village in Bree-Land. Strange folk in Archet. Dwalin had only ventured there a handful of times, trying to gain employment of any sort and for any duration in the hopes of earning some coin. But even for him, with all the things he’d seen and experienced, folk in Archet had been too strange. Uncultured. Distrusting. Unpredictable.

And Tanner. Aye, Dwalin remembered now how it had struck him as odd that someone like that man would be the cooper. It was backbreaking work, bending timber staves under heat and steam in order to make them pliable to shape them into casks, barrels, buckets and troughs, and Tanner hadn’t seemed the type for that kind of hard work. His body had been too slim, his hands too fine and his eyes too calculating. The Man had been only young then, but Dwalin had judged him to be a devious character.

_Looks like I’ve had the right of him._

Now, with that coat and vest it was clear he had managed to shrug off the backbreaking work and found others to do his bidding instead. True, his clothes and that moustache might have given him a jaunty look, but his core was just as rotten as that of the vilest brigand.

“It’s too many for us to take on,” Nori cautioned in whisper, no longer bothering to sign the words with his fingers.

Dwalin shook his head. “I don’t care. I can’t sit here and watch them torture her.” His tone was harsher than advisable, and Nori shushed him under his breath, both of them silent and listening, making sure none of the thugs in the clearing had heard them. But he needn’t worry, because the Men clustered around, distracted by the spectacle and clearly enjoying their leader’s torment of a lass half his size.

 _Cowards_.

Even the lookout and the guard by the horses left their places

When Tanner made his proposition and Ruby denied him with a fierce glean in her eyes Dwalin knew he had never seen a more arousing thing in his life.

 _Mahal_.

When the bastard pushed her into the mud with his boot on her head Dwalin’s blood was surging and he ground his teeth so hard he wouldn’t have been surprised if his molars were to crumble to dust.

When Tanner raised his fist hot white rage burned in Dwalin’s chest and he stood, not caring about any danger for himself.

When Tanner yelled out in pain, holding his bleeding wrist thanks to an arrow that had come out of nowhere, Dwalin didn’t hesitate.

“Du Bekar!” He broke through the tree line with a bellow, axes raised, Nori hot at his heel. Two throwing knives flew past Dwalin as he ran, burying themselves in the shoulder of the man closest to Tanner, stopping him enough to get close and cleave him near in half with a mighty swing of Keeper.

At the very moment Dwalin had charged into the open Thorin burst into the clearing from the other side, followed by Balin, Dori and Gimli. The men hurried to reach for their weapons, completely surprised and caught unawares. From all sides Khazad soldiers joined the fray.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dwalin suddenly saw Bilbo next to Ruby, wearing the Mithril shirt and holding Sting, his eyes shimmering with rage. The Hobbit shielded the dizzy lass with his body and managed to pull her a few feet, away from Tanner who was still busy with the arrow in his wrist, before one of the Men stepped into their path, raising his sword menacingly. Dori’s rock-crashing fist collided with his jaw at the same time as Sting reached his heart.

Dwalin buried his axe in another man and when he looked up there were no more standing. Dropping his weapons without a care he ran to Ruby and ripped her shaking form off the muddy ground and into his arms. Breathing harshly he held her tight. As her emotions washed over him like a torrent the full force of her distress had him near choking.

“I’ve got you, Amhâhul, I have you,” he rasped into her hair, “And I’ll never let you go again.”

Ruby reached up to sling her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his long hair almost painfully. She was sobbing into his beard and Dwalin pulled her even higher, wrapping her shaking body into a massive hug.

He held her, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent. She was dirty and wet and muddy, but it was still there. _Butter and sugar. Sweet, freshly baked goods._ It took a long while for his heart to slow again.

When he looked up the dead bodies had been carried to the far off side of the clearing and the soldiers had begun digging a mass grave. Gimli and Dori were handling the horses and ponies, going over the Men’s saddle bags and belongings.

Balin walked to him and gave him a grim smile and a nod, patting his arm in a reassuring, comforting way, before taking the axes Dwalin had so unceremoniously dropped to the ground where he stood. Raising his head he met Thorin’s eyes a distance away, the King briefly looking up from cleaning his sword with a rag before turning to face Tanner, who kneeled on the ground near the fire, one eye black and swollen shut, arms and legs tightly bound, held up by Nori with a knife at his throat.

Carrying his Ruby’s weight easily Dwalin walked over to them, where Bilbo and Balin already stood. Dwalin settled down on the ground next to the fire, cradling the shaking Ruby in his arms. Bilbo gave him a faint smile, before focusing on the King.

 _Let’s hope them all being here means everyone’s reconciled_.

Dwalin wasn’t sure if he could include himself, despite Thorin being here. Ruby barely moved, and Dwalin could feel she was numb with exhaustion, pain and memories, but she was listening. Gimli, Dori and the soldiers began gathering around, eyes hard when looking at Tanner.

“I remember you,” Thorin began, now idly leaning on a one more clean Orcrist, and looked closely at the man kneeling before him. “You were the cooper in Archet, years back.”

“And I remember you,” Tanner replied, his voice rough from the pain of his injuries and the tightness of his bounds. Now, that Dwalin was closer, he saw the grey in the man's hair, and the age lines on his face. “You’re one of those travelling smiths that gave us the pleasure of your acquaintance. Same as him.” The man jerked his head towards Dwalin.

_Aye, you fucker, had I known what shithead you truly are I had run you through in your sleep back then._

Ruby twitched in his arm, feeling his anger. He hummed in her ear soothingly and kissed her temple.

“This a reunion of a ragtag bunch of dwarven smiths?” Tanner asked, narrowing his eyes at the display of tenderness.

It was rather remarkable the man could still give lip like that in his situation, but Thorin’s mouth only curled into a wry smile. “It might be,” he said coolly.

Tanner’s shrewd eyes calculatingly looked the King up and down. “You did good for yourself, by the looks of it. Can’t be from honest work, with the likes of you. Came into some inheritance?”

Nodding, Thorin chuckled darkly. “Something like that.” He straightened, Orcrist loose in his sword-hand, holding the maker’s mark up with his free hand without a word.

“Ah,” Tanner nodded, “Of course. You’re after that little treasure, aren’t you? Getting yourself rich by using it. Can’t say I blame you. Personally, it’s beyond me why anyone would pay extra for something just because it has that particular mark on it, but hey, money rules the world and what would I know about the wares of beards?”

Thorin grunted without mirth. “Not much, that is quite clear. Let me educate you: for my kin, a maker’s mark is almost a sacred thing. It doesn’t matter whether its smithing, gemwork, weaving, stonework or any other craft, once a dwarrow earns their Mastery they have the right to carry one. The day a Mastery is achieved we also swear an oath to not copy or take another’s mark. Even if we were to find one in the middle of the road no honourable dwarrow would ever think of using it.”

Tanner said nothing, but continued to breathe heavily, his dark eyes burning with hate and never leaving Thorin.

“This maker’s mark belonged to a dwarf named Thráin, son of Thrór,” Thorin continued, looking at the metal stamp in his hand, eyes going distant and unfocused for a moment. _Tapping into his makansul, no doubt._ “To our knowledge he died over a century ago. I guess one could say that he also was ... rather famous. So when suddenly all these goods popped up, bearing his mark - it raised questions.”

“He could have made them a long time ago,” Tanner said hoarsely, “Who could tell the difference?”

Thorin smiled. “I can,” he said simply, “And so can Dwalin.” Tanner followed his gaze as he pointed over his shoulder. Dwalin made sure his features looked murderous when the man met his eyes. “You see, all of our kin have a special ... instinct when it comes to the materials we work with. Naturally, some are blessed more with it than others, but all have at least a basic feel for it. As smiths it’s metal and alloys for Dwalin and I. As such we are able to touch any forged object and can tell a great many things about it. Whether it was Dwarrow made or Man-made, for example. The exact composition of the alloy, where the metal came from. There is a reason why Dwarrow-forged goods are superior to those of Mannish smiths. It’s because we can exactly determine where the metal came from and what its composition is, and accordingly adjust our alloys. But of course, you must have figured out some of that, otherwise you would not have put Ruby in charge of product control.” Tanner’s eyes flickered to the lass in Dwalin’s arms and the warrior growled deep in his throat in anger that that kanubnúl would dare look at her again. She trembled, clinging to him, her eyes clenched shut, and Dwalin reached for her face, softly stroking her dirty cheek with his fingers.

“That’s how it is for all Dwarrow, and it’s a good skill for any Masters when they touch goods of their trade. If it is family however, the object we touch tells us much more,” Thorin continued, and Tanner looked truly confused. “Family can tell for certain if a piece was forged by one of their kin, can even narrow down the time of its creation,” Thorin continued, and the first sign of understanding dawned on Tanner’s face. “Aye. The dwarf who owned this maker’s mark was related to me. And I had believed him dead for over a century. Imagine my surprise and my shock when I am presented with a Hobbit-sized bread knife that I _knew for certain_ was forged by Thráin less than fifty years ago. What’s more, suddenly I am finding myself inspecting a full table of forget items, all of them baring that same maker’s mark, but only half of them were actually forged by him. The other half was forged by the hands of several _different_ Dwarrow. Naturally, my curiosity was piqued. And my outrage.”

Tanner sneered. “Maybe not all your fellow beards are as honourable as you would wish them to be.”

Thorin hummed, sliding the maker’s mark into the inside pocked of his coat. “Naturally, there are always exceptions. But even dishonourable Dwarrow hold tight to our ways, especially when it’s against Men. What I’ve told you are some of our most well-guarded secrets. You may have figured out that Ruby has some skill with metal and thought it came to her from her Khazad father, which is true, but you have not guessed to the extent of her knowledge and even less so of her fierce loyalty to what she _knew_ is one of our most sacred traditions, not just loyalty to her father. For her to hold on to the maker’s mark in the way she did shows bravery beyond what anyone could have expected of her, including herself. It is well known Khazad are stubborn and strong willed, but it is a secret known only by precious few how tenacious and determined Hobbits can be.” The King looked up and locked eyes with Bilbo, smiling fondly for a moment.

Dwalin was pleased to see it. Thorin’s gaze slid to the lass in his arm and lingered on her for a long time. When he continued speaking his tone was soft and filled with compassion. And that pleased Dwalin even more.

“Ruby has those traits from both her parents in spades. She knows both worlds indeed, and it makes her doubly special.”

A shudder went through her at those words and Dwalin could sense a tentative hope blossoming inside her.

Tanner fought against his bonds, trying to stand. He groaned when Nori roughly yanked him back on his knees; the sound making it clear that age had caught up with his joints, at least. “She traded her mother’s life for a piece of metal.”

Ruby whimpered and Dwalin was nearly blinded by the raw pain flaring through her. He forced his breath to calm and did his best to send soothing vibes through their bond.

“You have put an utterly cruel choice before her,” Thorin said quietly, “One that many much older and wiser would have struggled to make.”

“She murdered my sister!” Tanner yelled, struggling fiercely against Nori’s hard hand on his shoulder and the knife against his throat. A growl broke from Gimli and the young dwarf stepped forward, hand on his axe, making it clear that struggling would Tanner no good.

“I have heard everything you said before,” Thorin responded gravely, “And I have witnessed everything you have done. Your actions in those few moments were beyond barbaric and I cannot even begin to imagine what Ruby has been through since you had her in your grasp. As she is kin, I will avenge her suffering.”

“Didn’t you hear that I was about to let her go?” Tanner shouted, his eyes wide as he grasped at straws. “She’s not worth the trouble no more. I was ready to leave her here and move on on my own.”

“Yes, I heard,” Thorin growled, blue eyes blazing with anger. “And we both know that you only would have let her be until you had found another place to continue your shady enterprise. Keeping her around until then would have been too cumbersome. She’s too resilient, too clever, too resistant against your vile. Someone would constantly have to watch her and if the authorities in Bree or the rangers had found out … No, you showed yourself to be generous, letting her go to stay here, in her home, where you knew she’d likely remain, bound by her memories and her guilt. You couldn’t leave her with the maker’s mark though, for her own safety, because too many of your thugs know about its value, and they might have less scruple slicing her neck than you. But you would have come back for her, eventually, and lured her once more with her father’s maker’s mark. She would have accepted, of course, because it means everything to her. You would have bound it around her neck again, chaining her to you in that way, because that’s something you like: chaining people to you with threats and lies and promises. It’s what you do. It’s what you thrive on. But no more.”

“You can’t just kill me,” the man protested vehemently, gasping as Nori’s knife nicked the wrinkled skin at his neck, “What will your King say when he hears some of his people run amok in the west? A large host of soldiers was just recently seen travelling through and there are rumours he himself is headed to the Blue Mountains.”

Thorin chuckled humourlessly. “You should know better than to listen to rumours, Tanner.” He leaned down slightly and fixed the man with a hard look.

After a heartbeat or two understanding dawned on Tanner’s face, his eyes flickered from the heavily armed soldiers in the background to Thorin’s rich clothing and he paled, all pretend jauntiness gone.

“Indeed,” Thorin said, interpreting the man’s expression correctly and straightening up proudly. “I am Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King of Durin’s folk. Aye, the son of the very Thráin whose maker’s mark you’ve been exploiting. And as every other year I am travelling to the Shire with my Consort, to spend the summer in his home.” Thorin looked over to Bilbo, who gave a grim nod. “Incidentally,” Thorin continued, “The Royal Consort’s mother had a twin sister. It was always rumoured that this twin sister lived near Bree, with a Man.”

Tanner’s eyes widened.

“Now we know that is not entirely true. As it is, her parentage makes Ruby not only a cousin to the Royal Consort of Erebor, but also my half-sister.” Thorin clicked his tongue, just like Tanner had done before when he teased Ruby. “Tanner, Tanner, you surely have gotten yourself in a pickle. Keeping kin of the King of Erebor and his Royal Consort hostage, emotionally torturing her and being physically violent towards her ... And I’m sure that’s not remotely the extent of all the miserable things you have done. It will give me great pleasure to end your life for all the crimes you have committed.”

“You’ll fate my sister’s children to be without the only father they’ve ever known,” Tanner whispered harshly, making a desperate attempt to save himself.

Thorin sighed deeply. “It is regrettable,” he agreed, “But they would be well into adulthood now and you had plenty of opportunity to see their futures secure. If you haven’t done that it is certainly not my responsibility to fix something you have not made a priority. I assure you that ending your miserable, depraved life will not make me lose one minute of sleep.”

Dwalin knew what was coming and it was totally fine with him, but he didn’t want Ruby anywhere near it. So, when Thorin turned and gave him a warningly look he immediately got to his feet and carried his precious lass off towards the other side of the clearing. He could sense that she knew why he walked away, and he could feel that she understood and didn’t protest Tanner’s punishment but that she was grateful for the distance just the same. “I love you, Amhâhul,” he mumbled into her hair when Tanner’s voice intensified in a crescendo of frantic pleads for his life, “I love you so much. You are mine and I am yours and nothing and nobody will ever be able to change that.”

She moved a little, her arms around his neck tightening their hold. “I love you too, Dwalin,” she whispered into his beard.

The frantic pleads crescendoed into shrieks and ended abruptly.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry I ran away. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake. I just was so hurt, and so confused. I didn’t know what else to do-” Her body shook and Dwalin felt her tears dripping into his beard.

“Hush now, my Ruby,” he broke her off, shaking his head in sorrow at her pain and tightening his grip around her trembling form. “I have done badly by you. I should have told you the truth straight away. I ... I just didn’t know how to. It is complex, and unpleasant. And I ... I am afraid you might hate me for some of it.”

She lifted her face, blue eyes clear as a mountain lake even as they were filled with tears and shook her head that her messy black hair flew. “It was wrong of me to run away. Childish and ... just wrong. I should have waited to hear you out. And ... Bilbo.” Her eyes darted over his shoulder to where the Hobbit had remained next to his husband. Turning back to Dwalin she swallowed harshly. “It went all wrong.”

“Aye, that it did, Amhâhul.”

As they reached the other side of the clearing Dwalin sunk down to the ground, settling her before him into the soft grass. He grabbed her hands to squeeze them gently, reassuringly.

She shuddered and looked at her hands in his large, rough, knuckleduster-clad paws “I ... I felt betrayed. And that hurt. I was just so ... lost. I was hurt and angry, but I never hated you.” She looked at him intently and blushed when their eyes bore into each other. “I don’t think I could ever hate you,” she added in a mumble.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, bye-bye Tanner, good riddance. Thorin had it right: he would never have let Ruby go. He was certain he made her believe to her very bones that she was nothing and had no-one, taking the maker’s mark to break her some more and in a twisted way keep her safe, and he would have come back for her once he figured out another way to set up his ‘enterprise’ again. Bastard. He’s gone now. 
> 
> In case anyone’s confused about this chapter’s title: Reunion Two refers to the reunion between Thorin/Dwalin and Tanner.
> 
> Amhâhul - amazing gem  
> kanubnúl – mutts/mongrels  
> The profession of cooper has been around since Ancient Egypt. Goods from a cooper were obviously much more sought after before plastic was invented, but despite less interest in its goods today the profession itself does still exist. I’ve linked it in the text, because – if you didn’t know about coopers already – it’s good for the human brain to learn new stuff every day.


	25. Digging up the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dwarf should be comfortable doing some digging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for this chapter, and the next: we are going to have to deal with the remains of a deceased person. I won’t go into too much detail about it, but death is a part of life and therefore I won’t simply omit writing about it either. It won’t be gruesome, nor disrespectful, at least I don’t think so, but for anyone who might struggle with this sort of thing, proceed with caution.

(Nori)

There was much about his life that Nori didn’t know. He didn’t know who his father was. He didn’t know who Dori’s father was, nor who Ori’s father was. He did know his Amad, of course, had been familiar with her smile, with her scent, with her hugs, with her voice ... but he did not really _know_ her. Did not know why she joined with three different Dwarves and why Mahal saw fit to beget her with a pebble each and every time. (He did not allow himself to consider the possibility that she had lain with many more dwarves but ‘only’ fell pregnant three times.) If one were the devout sort one could argue that his Amad had been blessed. If one was the practical sort once could say it was madness. Madness that she gave herself away to three different Dwarves, none of them her One, not Fated and certainly not Blessed, each of questionable character and motives because what dwarf would lay with a dam without honouring her and her family. Dori could have been an accident (or worse but Nori didn’t allow himself to consider that possibility either). But when Nori came along surely his Amad knew how these things worked and surely whatever dwarf she allowed into her bed knew she had a pebble at home already. And Ori ... Their Amad had been not young any more by then and carrying had taken its toll. Shame, too, that none in Ered Luin had felt the obligation to help this dam, who had been blessed by Mahal even if it was in a slightly questionable way. Help her with raising her sons, help her with seeing them to apprenticeships and that they would become valuable members of Khazad society. That, Nori knew in his heart of hearts, was the very reason he had despised those well off and especially the nobility in Ered Luin with a burning passion, had gladly stolen from them whatever he could get his hands on and humiliated and annoyed them whenever an opportunity presented itself.

Their blatant disregard of those in need, all while holding up their own noses and wallowing in the fortitude their pedigrees brought them, even if they had lost their home just like the rest of them and much of their fortune on top of that, made them deeply unlikeable in Nori’s eyes.

That it changed, in the end, had been Ori’s doing. Because Ori, who had been the sweetest, most temperate, kindest, knowledge hungry dwarfling ever to walk on Arda’s stone had caught Balin’s eye. And when Balin made him his apprentice and allowed him to come along on the quest it drew Dori and Nori along, into the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, with a Hobbit, against a dragon, and here they were. 

The quest had permanently changed Nori’s perspective of things, although he had fought tooth and nail not to revise his opinion about Dwarrow of noble houses, and royalty for that matter. First chip in his - back then - rock solid belief was the realization that not all nobles - or royalty - were rich. Because the line of Durin was not. Not in Ered Luin anyway. He knew that after he spied on their lives for months. It was after Dwalin, newly appointed bulky, gruff Captain of the Guard blamed him for having stolen the evidence into the illegal activities of a gang of barely of age Dwarrow that lived in a run-down house in the bad part of town. For once Nori, who barely was in town during that time in the first place, and if he was it was never for long (because it was unwise to conduct any business of the sort he was conducting anywhere near where his brothers lived), had been innocent. He had been outraged at the audacity of the big warrior, who told all the world about that xxx who had dared to sneak into his office and steal that file. With the evidence gone all members of the gang had to be released. Nori had decided to follow this new guard captain to find his weak spots and act out a little revenge. The highly experienced and decorated warrior had only recently returned to Ered Luin permanently, having been guarding caravans for decades. And when Nori learned that the scarred warrior utilized the weather predictions of old Unta, an ancient, blind and arthritic dwarrowdam, who lived alone in the back room of an inn, paying her with coin and food and the occasional warm blanket - all from his own pocket - and used those weather ‘forecasts’ - _yes, Mylord we will have early frost, I can feel it in my hip_ \- to plan his raids, where Dwalin predominantly had his soldiers round up those Dwarrow that were under age or lived on the street or in leaking houses and put into the jailhouse until the worst of the weather had passed, Nori begrudgingly had to change his opinion about some members of the nobility, and the exiled royalty of Erebor in particular.

And Dwalin was nothing compared to Thorin. The king-in-exile went hungry more nights than Nori to make sure his sister and his nephews had a full bowl of stew, and even if his outer coat and padded gambeson were intricately made and lined with fur and Dwalin’s armour and weapons were flawless and polished within an inch of their lives both Dwarrow sat together many an evening to mend their tunics and breeches of far lesser quality, sharing a mug of watered-down ale. They both doted on Fíli and Kíli, of course, and on Dís, who loved her small family fiercely, no matter how far fallen from grace and into near poverty as it was.

So when the quest was over and all was said and done it was a no-brainer for Nori to offer his services to this King, who knew hunger and desperation, who knew what it was like to have nothing.

He had anticipated that Dwalin would take the most convincing, considering Nori’s colourful past, but - surprisingly - the warrior had been the first to give him his vote of confidence. When Nori sought him out later and asked why the warrior just shrugged. “We have a common goal,” he had explained. “We both love our families and would do anything to see them save. We both despise any who trample over others to get to riches and fame. And we both want to see this Kingdom thrive. We may not share all the same ideas of how to accomplish it all, but if push comes to shove, I much like having you in my corner.”

And yes, Nori had every intention to help making Erebor a thriving place for all, not just those born rich and with a noble pedigree. Certainly, Bilbo had been pivotal with that, the Consort being the perfect counterpart for Thorin, clever, diplomatic and utterly fair as he was. Nobody cared about them being a pair of males; Thorin sure wasn’t the only dwarf that had formed a bond with another of the same gender in the absence of a One that never had come forward to claim him. Those nobles that grumbled about it had no leverage since Fíli and Kíli filled the shoes as the heirs of Erebor most competently. And those nobles that had grumbled about Bilbo being not Khazad – well, their complaints evaporated like a droplet of water on hot steel; Bilbo was just too good as Royal Consort of Erebor. And even if the King occasionally made it hard to be loved because he fell back into this pigheaded, stubborn, bitter streak of his old self, the one that was so at odds with the caring, considerate King, friend, brother, cousin, uncle and husband Nori had seen on so many occasions. 

A part of Nori could understand it, because old grudges sat deep with any of Khazad blood, and no matter how good life was now Nori had not forgotten the many, many bitter memories from his upbringing and life as a fatherless, prospect-less, poor thief in Ered Luin. And some days those memories tasted sourer than others. Why should Thorin, whose bitterness about blatant dismissal and unfair treatment would have been far more intense than Nori’s, coupled as it was with an intense loathing of fate and what the line of Durin had been burdened with over the centuries.

The other part, the _new_ part of Nori was not sure he could forgive Thorin for the way he had treated Ruby Makhdûna. Because both the new and the old Nori liked the lass a great deal. Thinking back on it Nori realized that had liked her the moment he had set eyes on her in Tanner’s compound, a fondness not dissimilar to how he felt about his baby brother, Ori. That fondness and the worry that came with it as she had run away had turned into rock-solid knowledge that he’d pledge himself to her for all his life. It would annoy the hell out of the warrior, Nori was well aware, but he doubted Dwalin would actually make too much of a ruckus about it, not after he’d seen how the hardened warrior had fallen to pieces during their chase of the Dwobbit.

And not after having heard everything that Tanner had said.

Thorin had it right: the choice Tanner put before her - her Adad’s maker’s mark or her dying Mother and her home - had been utterly cruel. Nori thought he knew cruel, but this sure was something else. Judging by his rather elaborate clothes, that Man, Tanner, had liked to present himself in a casual, but jaunty way, his moustache giving him a look that made him a bit more debonair than the next fellow in any town of Men, but at his core he was no less evil than any spawn of the Dark Forces.

Nori’s immediate fierce hatred for the Man had only been rivalled by his steely determination to free the lass from his clutches and end his miserable existence in the process.

It would have been a hard fight and things could have gone terribly wrong with only Dwalin and him there to aid her, and Nori would never deny that he had never been so glad to fight alongside Khazad as he had been in that moment, not even during the Battle of Five Armies.

Now the bastard was dead and Ruby Makhdûna sat safely in Dwalin’s arms a ways off and it seemed like they had that long overdue conversation.

“Good you’re alive and well, Naddith,” Dori muttered and pulled him into a hug.

“Good you lot were able to join in the fun,” Nori replied after huffing at his brother’s strong squeeze. Nori wasn’t usually at the receiving end of Dori’s displays of physical affection, that honour belonged to Ori. Now he had gotten two solid hugs in as many days and wasn’t quite sure how to handle it.

“The trail you left was clear enough even for Thorin to follow it with ease,” Dori told him with a pointed look toward their direction-challenged King, who still stood in deep conversation with his Consort.

Nori snorted and gave Gimli and Balin a nod in greeting as they joined him and his brother. “Glad he decided to come after all.” He looked at Balin, trying to read what was going on the Royal Advisor’s head.

Balin’s face was relaxed and he smiled, but his normally twinkly blue eyes met his gaze surprisingly somberly. “Our King found himself at a crossroads, and he chose the path of truth, compassion and family ties. It is what sets him apart from many of Durin’s Kings before him. He falters often, just as all his line he is equally plagued by a narrow view of many matters, but unlike them he puts himself second when it matters most.”

 _Nailed it on the head,_ he did, Nori thought of Balin’s words, because didn’t they sum up much of Thorin over the years. They all turned to look at their King, who had a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and leaned down to gently tap their foreheads together. Bilbo said something and a rueful grin played at Thorin’s mouth as he straightened. He nodded, and they both glanced towards Dwalin and Ruby, the warrior just now lifting their joined hands for a lingering kiss to her knuckles.

“Guess from today nobody will be able to pry that dwarf away from the lass with a steel bar,” Nori couldn’t help but mutter at the sight of the lass’ responding smile, even if it was a rather feeble one.

Gimli snorted and looked about to add something but bit his lip as Thorin and Bilbo walked over.

“Nori.” The King’s blue eyes - _so like the lassie’s_ \- settled on him.

“Your Majesty,” Nori bowed his head in greeting.

“Well done on finding Ruby’s trail,” Bilbo complimented with a small smile.

Nori rubbed his chin through the beard and braid hanging from it. “Was more Dwalin towards the end,” he admitted. “Seems her anger at him wore off enough for him to get a sense of her direction. Might not have caught up with her in time otherwise.”

Balin hummed, looking around. “In the end we could have guessed where she was headed, even if we didn’t know the exact location.”

“Yes,” Thorin agreed, his eyes taking in the small house. The limestone slates that tiled the roof, many broken and dislodged by wind and the snows of many winters. The path to the wide porch that was barely visible amidst the weeds which had overtaken the garden. The solid log cabin on the other side of the clearing, the flower troughs under the windows just as overgrown with weeds as the garden. The King lay a tentative hand on the wrought iron part of the fence, bowed his head with an anguished expression as his makansul overcame him before squeezing his eyes shut and sighing deeply.

Nori cleared his throat. “Might be a good idea for me to have a quick look around,” he said lowly, “to be sure what awaits inside. Before the lassie goes in.” Tipping his chin towards where Ruby sat before a Dwalin who looked like he was pouring out all his heart with as many words as he likely had never spoken in all his life, Nori quirked a questioning eyebrow at Bilbo.

“Probably a good idea,” the Hobbit sighed, waving him along with a troubled look at the broken gate underneath the oaken arbour.

It didn’t take Nori long to circle around the house once, taking in the broken glass in the round window under the roof, the loosely hanging gutter and the bird’s nest on the chimney. When he came back to the front the gate had been lifted out of the way by someone and was leaning at the side. Thorin had moved off to the side of the clearing, to an open construction that could have been used as a forge, looking lost in thought. Bilbo was speaking to Balin while Dori was helping the soldiers.

After one last look at Ruby, who now held Dwalin’s face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his, Nori made his way to the front door. The floorboards of the porch were broken in places, the wood creaking and moaning under Nori’s weight as he carefully stepped around the holes and made his way to the solid wooden door. The knocker was missing, but the doorknob was still there. The hinges whined when Nori slowly pushed it open. Cobwebs hung from the wooden ceiling, which was decorated with carvings that were entirely Khazad. As he looked around Nori realized that most pieces of metal had been removed, and not carefully. The coat hooks had been all but ripped from the wood paneling of the wall in the small entrance area. Internal doorknobs were missing, doors leaned against the wall, the hinges gone, too. The kitchen was bare of pots, pans, ladles and cutlery, only stacks of dusty plates and mugs and broken pottery remained. Cupboards and a lonely chest were open, remnants of clothes and personal belongings strewn about. The eerie feeling in Nori’s gut increased when his eyes fell on a dark stain on the floor near the table in the kitchen. This must be where Tanner’s sister had bled to death after hitting her head. An accident, Ruby had said, and even if Nori hadn’t seen her face in that moment, or heard the tone of her voice, he would have believed it. The lass was fierce and would defend those she considered hers with a vengeance, but she had been all but a sheltered child back then. She would not have had it in her to hurt anyone in a malicious way, let alone kill them in cold blood.

Because Nori suspected what he might find behind the only door that was still shut he left it alone for now and inspected the rest of the house. A bathroom, taps and towel rails missing, what appeared to be a workroom of sorts, with a table that had quills and paper stacked at one side - no inkwell - and apart from a few turned over books and scraps of fabric only empty shelves and a few open, empty boxes.

Climbing the steep and narrow stairs into the steepled roof Nori was met with what must have been Ruby’s room. A bed, void of pillows and blankets, a nightstand, empty, an open trunk, empty, a small desk underneath the round window, shards of glass everywhere, empty, cleared out of even a bare sheer of parchment. Briefly, Nori wondered whether Ruby had been allowed to take some her possessions with her when Tanner ‘took her’, but in his gut he knew the answer to that would be _no_ and what was hers had been removed just out of spite.

A brief glance through the second window to the front gave him a view over the clunky but solid log cabin on the other side of the clearing and some of the soldiers working on a mass grave just to its side. Nori climbed back downstairs and eyed the only closed door with trepidation.

‘ _She’s still inside’_ Tanner had said. And she was. When Nori slowly opened the door his eyes immediately fell on the large bed and what remained of Berylla Took. She was lying on her back on the right side of the undisturbed bed, her skeletonized body covered by a quilted blanket, the remains of her face no more than a skull, unrecognizable despite the flimsy bits of hair still sticking to it. The thin bones of her hands were folded on top of her body, wrapped in a strip of embroidered cloth.

It was a sight Ruby should not be seeing, Nori thought with a sigh, but at the same time he knew there would nobody be able to hold the lass back. _At least she won’t be on her own afterwards_. Nori could only imagine what it would have done to her if she had indeed come home on her own, to the sight of _this_. It was like Erebor all over, where they had found corpses all over the place, and not all had been crushed or burned, many had been discovered in what would have been their homes, whole families huddled together in their beds, often with clear signs of having sped up their path to Itdendûm.

Nori sighed, stroking his beard as the all too familiar feeling of sorrow flooded his gut. Flecks of dust were dancing in the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains at the window, illumination the bedroom in a soft, golden glow. A bed, nightstands with their drawers open, a little dressing table, devoid of any kind of knickknack that would usually occupy such a space on it, a heavy looking, wooden wardrobe, doors open, empty.

Nori had seen plenty of death. He may not have been a warrior and had not seen any battle safe the one history had dubbed Battle Of Five Armies, but he had seen death. His own Amad among the many innocents and many more not so innocents. Among them ones he himself had set on their path to Mahal’s Halls. Aye, one could say past experiences had hardened him somewhat, but still, he knew what sorrow felt like. And he did feel sorry for Berylla. For having had to die alone, without a loved one nearby, although that was the sad truth for many. He also felt sorry for her for possibly having been aware in her dying moments that her only child was taken by evil Men and that there was nothing she could do to help her, nothing she could say to ease the incomprehensible terror her daughter would have felt at that moment. But Nori felt even more sorry for Ruby. The bonnie lass had shown nothing but a heart of gold and a tenacity that shone like Mithril. Too much had happened to her that brought her nothing but grief, and not by her doing. After everything that happened these past few days Nori knew that making peace with the aftermath of her decision to follow Tanner and her Adad’s maker’s mark would be exceptionally hard on the lass. Maybe even cause another breaking point.

He’d have to warn the others. With that he made to exit the small house.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m told keeping up with the ages of characters of different aging races is a bit tricky. Below a shortened version of the timeline I’ve been using for this story. I hope it helps, although a fair bit is left out, as it’s not yet been revealed in the chapters so far. Text between `` is my addition to the timeline, the rest is Tolkien canon.
> 
> 2852: Belladonna and `Berylla Took` are born  
> `2886: Tanner is born`  
> 'September' 22, 2890: Bilbo Baggins is born in the Shire (Belladonna is 38)  
> `2892: Berylla moves to Bree (she is 40)`  
> `Sometime between 2904 and 2915: Dwalin and Thorin – separately - visit Archet again in their efforts to  
> find work and earn money, Tanner would be between 18 and 29)`  
> `2910: Ruby is born (Berylla is 58, Thráin is 266)`  
> Fell Winter of 2911–2912: wolves invade the Shire (Bilbo is 20)  
> 2926: Bungo Baggins dies (aged 80) (Bilbo is 36)  
> 2934: Belladonna dies (aged 82) (Bilbo is 44)  
> `2938: Thráin dies (aged 294) (Ruby is 28, Berylla is 86)`  
> `2941: Ruby is taken prisoner by Tanner`  
> `2951: Nori finds stuff with Thráin’s maker’s mark (Bilbo is 61, Ruby is 41) and this story begins, Tanner dies (aged 65)`


	26. Enough Tears to Fill a Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin is peeved

(Balin)

Tanner’s campfire flared to life again thanks to Gimli’s tending, its smoke and the scent of dredged up earth, of moss and freshly cut wood blended with the coppery scent of blood and the stench of death. Balin knew he would be glad when the soldiers were done filling the dugout pit that served as mass grave of Tanner’s thugs and the evil villain himself, along with their belongings, lest anyone who might come looking would find them. After securing the area around the clearing and setting up a watch the rest of the soldiers were busy removing all traces of the short battle. It was too peaceful an area to be stained with such vileness, but alas, it had happened.

Balin did not regret it.

Their chase after Dwalin and Nori had been hurried, but precise, and, thanks to the trail left by the two dwarves, relatively easy. It had been a surprise to have Thorin, Gimli and the soldiers join him, Bilbo and Dori when they were just about to mount their hastily readied ponies. Thorin hadn’t said much, none of them had, not then and not during their chase, but Balin was glad of his presence nonetheless as it showed where his heart truly lay. Not that he would quite be able to look past the anguish Thorin’s behaviour had caused for his Naddith and Ruby Makhdûna. Not just yet, despite what he had said to Nori and Dori about Thorin and his ability to put his own agenda second when it truly mattered.

Not that it made any difference now. None of _before_ was important anymore. Not after hearing Tanner’s words to the lass. Yes, whatever had weighed heavy on Thorin changed completely in the aftermath of rescuing her, but even the lowest of Dwarrow would have come to her rescue after witnessing that man’s treatment of Ruby, listening to his taunts and his threats. Balin was glad they had found Nori’s last messages early and managed to press on in the dark and have the clearing surrounded in time. Ruthless thugs they may have been, capable of terrorizing innocent folk, but battle hardened Khazad warriors were no match for Tanner and his ruffians. Their skill was superior, as well as their determination to protect this daughter of Durin’s line. Because if any still held doubt - Thorin! - that had dissolved like early morning fog in the sun after realizing the length Ruby Makhdûna had gone through to keep her Adad’s maker’s mark. It began with the Royal Consort doing some urgent whispering to the King, followed by Thorin signaling to attack on his command, then hooking an arrow, and Bilbo doing his disappearing act.

In the end all was done in the blink of an eye.

 _Certainly quicker than the aftermath will be_ , Balin surmised as he looked around the clearing. It was a peaceful place. Homely, despite the overgrown weeds and the damages on the house, done by ten years of exposure to the whims of nature and no hands to do any kind of maintenance. A gentle breeze had the leaves in the trees dance with a light rustle. The trickle of a stream in the distance cutting through in a lull every now and then. The sounds of axes on wood indicated at a new activity from several soldiers, while others were busy covering the now flattened earth of the dugout with moss. Despite knowing it, Balin was ever pleasantly surprised by the efficiency Dwarrow possessed when a task needed doing urgently. A pile of stacked logs was in the process of being relocated from next to the cabin to top the mass grave, to which the additionally chopped trees likely would be added. Hopefully, it would stop wild animals digging up the dead and for curious eyes to assume this was only a pile of wood drying to be used for some purpose later. They had only kept the horses of the Men but would set them lose later; they had no use for them.

Balin sighed as he gave Grasper’s blade a last wipe before leaning it safely against the wrought iron section of the fence, next to Keeper. It would have to be the first time ever that Dwalin had not tended to his own weapons after having made thorough use of them, Balin knew. Not that it had been a hardship for him to do take up the task in his Naddith’s stead. His Naddith, who still sat at the far side of the clearing, with Ruby Makhdûna facing him from where she sat on the ground before him, Dwalin holding her hands and speaking to her. She listened intently, her posture tense, and even from the distance Balin could tell her face was pale and her eyes wide.

“Seems there’s a lot of telling,” Nori suddenly spoke up behind him, tipping his chin towards the pair when Balin turned to look at him.

“Aye,” he agreed quietly. “There is a lot that needs telling.”

Nori grunted in agreement. His long fingers stroked the beard at his chin and his sharp eyes were fixed on the Blessed Pair. “Their bond is unquestionable,” he muttered, sounding oddly awed.

“It is,” Balin agreed after another look towards his Naddith and his One just as Thorin and Bilbo joined him and Nori. “Mahal has blessed us with a very special lass indeed.” He met Thorin’s eyes and was glad to see solemnness there, not anger, before the King’s blue eyes settled on Nori. “What have you found inside, Nori?”

The Spy Master shrugged. “What was expected. Pretty much cleared out. Not much left, apart from a few bits and pieces.” Balin watched as Nori’s face grew somber. “We’ll need another grave dug.”

Bilbo inhaled sharply and Thorin squeezed his husband’s shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort.

“So it’s true what Tanner said,” Bilbo muttered, shaking his head. “I had hoped ...” He turned to look to where Ruby was now in Dwalin’s arms.

“Unfortunately not,” Nori said. “Glad that bastard is dead,” he added, an angry edge to his voice, “for what he’s put the lass through.”

“She should not see her mother like this,” Bilbo said determinedly, straightening his waistcoat over his Mithril shirt and pulling his coat straight, a Hobbit on a mission.

“She’ll have to,” Balin disagreed. “Otherwise she’ll always be wondering.”

Nori blew out a long breath through his nose, making his displeasure clear, although Balin would guess it was about the fact that they had to put yet another burden on Ruby Mahdûna, not about the fact that treading lightly was a nuisance to him. “Aye. But we’ll have to go easy on her with it. Won’t do for her to react all knee jerk-like again and bolt. I’m quite done with chases cross the wilds for a bit.”

Thorin made a little noise that sounded suspiciously like a chortle. When they all looked at him he shifted with a rueful expression. “We will ask her where she wishes her mother to be buried.” His tone of voice indicated he didn’t mean it as an order, more like a suggestion. “Then we will prepare the grave. Nori, as you are familiar with the house, you will be the one to lead her inside. You will give her some time to come to terms with reality, then we will lead her outside and take over-“

“And Dwalin,” Balin interrupted, frowning at his King. _How can he think Ruby would go anywhere anytime soon without Dwalin?_

Thorin looked at him, confused while Bilbo rolled his eyes as if Balin had said something silly.

“Nori will lead Ruby _and Dwalin_ inside,” Balin elaborated, holding himself back from rolling his eyes as well, because nothing was being too _silly_ to say after the last few days they had, “There is no way my brother will be parted from her side even for a moment in the foreseeable future.”

Thorin gave him a glare at the harsher than necessary tone before sighing. “Yes, thank you, Balin. It goes without saying.”

“And it does not bother you?” Balin couldn’t help but ask, ignoring Bilbo’s tutting and Nori’s raised eyebrow. “Forgive me for being blunt, Thorin. I mean no disrespect and I am not speaking as the Royal Council just now, but as the head of the house of Fundin. But the very existence of Ruby Makhdûna did bother you greatly not so very long ago, and you very much made it clear that you did doubt my brother’s bond to the lass. I understand that much has changed after hearing what Tanner said, but there is still much we don’t know, and I would like to be certain that you truly have come to at least accept the situation and not react badly again when, invariably, the time comes where she will tell us personal details about her life with her Adad, who was Thráin, son of Thrór.”

Thorin’s lips pressed together in a thin line, his brows furrowed and his blue eyes blazed. It would send lesser Dwarrow running for the hills but Balin had seen that look often enough to not feel in the slightest phased. Besides, no matter his devotion and loyalty to the Royal House in general and to Thorin in particular, he still felt he was rather peeved about the fact that Thorin would so blatantly dismiss the will of Mahal and the honour of the house of Fundin. Because Fundin’s line was also of Durin’s blood, no less famed than the direct line of kings, and certainly far less known for being blinded by greed and false-valued ambition. They certainly had their share of carrying the responsibility of caring for Durin’s folk. And there were few Dwarrow more deserving than Dwalin to be favoured with a Blessed Bond. And Ruby Makhdûna... well ... she was one of a kind. From all Balin had seen of her up to now she was spirited and brave, tenacious and loyal, clever and with a heart of gold. He could not wait to get to know her better and he would fully embrace her into the family fold.

Ignoring Thorin’s glare and Bilbo’s disapproving frown for his critical words Balin straightened his back and met his King’s eyes squarely, raising an eyebrow to convey he was still waiting for an answer. Thorin’s eyebrows turned down in a glower, but then he sighed. His forehead smoothed and he closed his eyes for a long moment. “Her existence does not bother me,” Thorin said softly, but with a firm undertone in his smooth voice, his gaze darting to the other side of the clearing. The King stiffened. Balin turned to follow his line of sight just in time to see Dwalin completely folding in on himself, his hands covering his face and his shoulders quaking; the anguish of reliving the disastrous events of Thráin’s disappearance too much to bear. Balin’s heart ached for his little brother. Ruby Makhdûna sat frozen, it was clear from her body language that she had not expected this kind of breakdown. But she sat frozen only for a heartbeat, then she clambered up on her knees and her arms came out to engulf her One into a tight embrace, tucking his head under her chin and rubbing his back with her hands. It was startling to see the hardened warrior coming apart like this, but this particular ache had been an open, raw wound for a very long time, only somewhat scabbed over after they had managed to reclaim Erebor, and the events of the last few days were not conducive in helping Dwalin keeping his stoic composure.

Thorin’s face fell as he witnessed his friend’s emotional outburst and Balin wondered - not for the first time - if he had ever seen the need to absolve Dwalin from his perceived failure of protecting Thráin. Bilbo sighed and rubbed his nose, as ever completely in tune with the emotions of those around him - while Nori’s expression gave nothing away, although his sharp eyes remained fixed on the warrior. Balin thought he might see pity in them, and he did not like it; Dwalin did not need _pity_. For a heartbeat his temper was roused. But at second glance Balin realized it was more. There was empathy in Nori’s eyes, compassion even. Erebor’s Spy Master was a complicated dwarf, Balin had known that, but that Dwalin was among those who had his sympathy was new to him. Dori, so unlike his middle brother and yet not at all, ushered the soldiers along, who momentarily had stopped in their tasks, visibly shocked by their Captain’s meltdown, before coming over to join their group in front of the gate.

“There’ll be tears and tears and more tears before this day is over,” he muttered, turning his back toward the Blessed Pair on the other side of the clearing in a clear effort to afford them some privacy.

“Aye, there will be,” Nori agreed instantly, “Enough tears to fill a lake. Will be the lass weeping next though.” And he threw a meaningful glance behind him at the house.

His brother understood immediately. Dori sighed and shook his head before lifting his chin. “Ah well, let’s prepare what we can. What needs doing?”

 _Bless you, Dori._ The dwarf was ever one to be practical.

For the next little while they discussed how to proceed: Bilbo would be the bearer of the news, consoling the lass and hopefully getting her response as to where her mother’s grave ought to be. Then he, Nori and Dwalin would accompany Ruby inside, and outside again after giving her some time. Dori would utilize blankets and whatever sheets could be salvaged to sow a death shroud. Thorin would see to the grave being dug. Balin, Bilbo and Dori would then wrap what was left of Berylla Took and the burial would take place. Bilbo was in charge for the Hobbit part of the ceremony, but Balin insisted on combining it with a few Khazad customs. Berylla and Thráin may not have been married according to the customs of either race, but they had lived together as a couple in every way that counted.

Across the clearing, Dwalin seemed to have managed to pull himself together somewhat. Ruby still had her arms around him but there was a wobbly smile on her face at the sight of the big warrior drying his face with a large, surprisingly clean handkerchief. _One of Bilbo’s gifts_. When Dwalin looked up and met his brother’s eyes Balin sighed. “It’s time,” he said.

Bilbo straightened his vest once more and together they watched Dwalin stand, pull Ruby to her feet and lead her over to them without letting go of her hand.

She approached with much apprehension, clearly afraid of a reprimand from all of them for running away. Her gaze darted this way and that, avoiding looking at any of their faces, her shoulders were hunched and her expression carefully blank, not that it helped when the worry shone out of her eyes like that. Thorin visibly stiffened when she nudged closer to Dwalin in an obvious effort to avoid getting too close to him, instead stepping carefully, as if he was a wild animal about to snap at her with bared teeth. Bilbo’s hand patted his arm briefly and Ruby’s eyes widened a fraction before darting away again. To inspect their boots, by the looks of it.

Bilbo stepped forward. “Ruby,” he said softly, carefully. “I am so very glad that you are alright.”

It was true of course, in a sense. Ruby was alright. But she also was dirty, her face pale under the mud stuck there, streaked with the lines of her tears, the purple bruise from Tanner’s slap visible regardless and her forehead crusted with blood from a blow. Her clothes and hair were no less caked, and her eyes were wide and bright with exhaustion and the aftermath of all that had happened. She was an absolute mess, and Balin could not help but worry that what was going to happen next would be the last straw to break her.

Clearing her throat she shuffled on her feet, looking terribly uncomfortable. Dwalin pulled her close and lifted her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. He nudged her encouragingly. She cleared her throat again. “I ... I am sorry ... for running away. It was ... stupid.” She wrinkled her nose and Balin’s breath caught in his throat at _how much_ she looked like Bilbo just then. “I didn’t ...” She shuffled again. “With everything ... I ... I forgot about Tanner. I should have known ... _Of course_ he would be here-“ And for the first time she lifted her face fully and looked at the house behind them. She swallowed audibly, awkwardness and regret replaced by painful apprehension.

“My dear lass, do not trouble yourself with that any longer,” Balin soothed, “Lots of wrongs have been done. Know that I, for my part, don’t blame you for running away. I can understand why it seemed the best option, at the time.”

“Completely understandable,” echoed Dori, while Nori elbowed his brother and shot the lass a cheeky wink, to which she returned a tentative twitch of her lips. Balin could tell she eyed Thorin warily from the corner of her eye, but the King remained silent.

“Yes, it is,” Bilbo said, taking another small step forward, drawing attention back to him. “I am just glad we found you in time and get the chance to talk things through. Unfortunately, just now, I believe we have a more pressing matter to attend to.” He looked at her gravely.

She said nothing.

She said nothing and her expression didn’t change but her wide, bright, tired eyes filled with tears. Tears that spilled over and dripped down her muddy cheeks like large, round and shiny pearls, heavy with sorrow and anguish.

Balin had expected tears, as well as sorrow and anguish. But not like this. This was a thousand times worse. Not a sound came from her, no scrunched-up face, no shuddering breath. Just silent tears, persistent and continuous.

Dwalin, however, squeezed his already bloodshot eyes shut for a moment, clearly fighting the intense grief that assaulted him through their bond. At least that’s how Író had described it: ‘No past thought or feeling, no fear, no dream is theirs and theirs alone any longer.’

Dwalin gripped her hand tight and when she continued to just stand there, still as a statue with those heavy tears dripping down her face, he took a step forward, tugging her along, and gave a nod to Bilbo. “Lead the way.”

Bilbo bowed his head and waved a hand at Nori who walked ahead, light footed as always. Dwalin followed, pulling the lass along with a strong arm around her shoulders, then Bilbo, and Balin last. Death had been frequent in his life. It seized being confronting at some stage during the War Against the Orcs, definitely at Azanulbizar. Then the Battle of Five Armies.

War was messy business.

Cleaning up Erebor had been different. Having to bury the dead that had perished inside the mountain over a century ago had been worse, in a way, than having to bury warriors after a battle. Nobody should have to die in their home from a violent act. Seeing Berylla’s undisturbed body brought up too many memories to handle. She may have passed in peace, but the circumstances around it were not peaceful at all.

They crammed into the small room, trying to give Ruby as much space as possible, without being too far away either. Dwalin kept his arm around her shoulders, pressing his lips at the crown of her messy head and against her temple, trying to give her comfort, when there was none to give. Bilbo, who still was a Gentlehobbit, but with edges of Mithril, stood with his lips pressed in a sorrowful line. Balin couldn’t help but wonder if he saw his own mother in the skeletonized face of his aunt, her twin-sister. To Balin, the patchwork quilt that covered the bed certainly looked familiar; it was much in the same style as many things in Bilbo’s home. Gifts from Berylla to her sister’s family, Balin knew. To find the bed undisturbed when the rest of the house had been turned upside down didn’t surprise Balin. Tanner was undoubtedly a villain, but he had not been a fool. He had needed to keep some sort of carrot dangling for Ruby, just in case, and he did.

After long moments in which nothing could be heard but their breathing, Ruby stepped closer to the bed. Briefly, Dwalin’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to hold her back, but only for a moment. Then he moved behind her and lay his palm against the small of her back, giving her the comfort of his touch while giving her space. Balin watched as Ruby’s wet eyes suddenly squinted in puzzlement. She reached out to touch the strip of richly embroidered fabric that wrapped around the thin bones of Berylla’s hands. Balin could feel Nori stiffen beside him, as well as Bilbo on his other side. Being only mildly familiar with Hobbits’ flower language Balin couldn’t help but wonder: what flowers had Berylla chosen to grace the last item she’d hold in this world?

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Balin peeved was a hard thing to write. But I feel it needed his POV at this point. Not an overly long chapter. Next one will be longer.


	27. Floodgates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I advise to have some tissues at hand when reading this chapter. xx

(Dwalin)

Of course Berylla would have hoped her daughter would return home at some stage. But since she couldn’t be certain that others would come back before Ruby did, Berylla conveyed her last message to her daughter via the embroidered strip of fabric she kept in her hands at the time of her passing, hoping her body would remain undisturbed until found by Ruby.

_Hobbits_ , Nori had muttered as he walked past him to follow Ruby who had turned without a word and sped from the room, followed by Bilbo who had pursed his lips and wriggled his nose after just one glance at the embroidery.

Dwalin had felt nothing but numb from the intensity of her sorrow. It didn’t help that he already had felt numb from the intensity of his own sorrow. And regret and pain and _guilt_. He had told her everything. Never in his life had he spoken so much in such a short amount of time. But he would not risk it to have some other dramas happen and have the issue of Thráin’s disappearance stand between them unmentioned. So he told her. He said things about that disastrous journey east he had never mentioned to anyone before. About the odd feeling of constantly being watched. About the good dwarves they had lost before they even made it to the Misty Mountains, some of them his friends for decades. Dwalin would never ever forget the moment of complete and utter silence in their bond when he told her about the day they, that _he_ lost Thráin. Yes, Nori had given her a broad overview of the facts, but hearing that it had been _him_ who had watch that night, Dwalin had been certain that she would stand and walk away from him, for good. But then that wave of compassion and _love_ rose up in her, completely sweeping away any remnants of the composure he had barely been able to hold on to. Dwalin did not care that he cried like he had never cried before in his life, and before others, too. Because Ruby was there to hold him and soothe his anguish. Her arms around him and the complete and utter acceptance of him despite his failure to protect his King, her _Adad_ , gave him the absolution he had not been able to give himself in all this time, despite the knowledge that he would never have stood a chance against dark sorcery.

The sudden, powerful flood of emotions from the both of them had been nearly overwhelming. It had made him numb. Numb while he led Ruby to the house, where the others were clearly waiting for them, dreading what would happen next. Dwalin knew he should probably ask whether there was a way to spare Ruby from going inside the house, her childhood _home_ , should flick his fingers to inquire how they intended to go about things. But he couldn’t bring himself to shake off the numbness for fear he would shake off the intense connection he felt with Ruby as well. He felt her trepidation, no _naked fear_ , of going over to not only Bilbo, but also Thorin. He knew she half expected her half-brother to draw his sword on her again, despite how he had defended her against Tanner. He could not bring himself to focus on anything but her, not wanting to miss a single one of her frantic heartbeats, which he could feel through their bond as if a drum was struck at the back of his head. He did not want to miss them to be able to be there for her just as she had been there for him when he fell apart at the other side of the clearing.

Dwalin decided to put his complete trust into his Nadad, and into Bilbo and Nori and Dori, and focused solely on Ruby, barely paying attention to the inside of the house and Berylla’s remains in the bed. Ruby had been surprisingly collected, even though he felt her raw pain and saw the thick, fat tears dripping down her tight face, crusty from blood and mud and the dried streaks from her previous crying. But when she stepped forward to investigate the strip of embroidered fabric in her mother’s hands he also felt the surge of her emotions. It shattered his numbness and in what seemed to be her typical fashion, she stormed off. They followed her outside, past a frowning Thorin and an alarmed Gimli, and to the back of the house. An overgrown, stout, leafy bush well taller than Ruby, with reddish purple stems and large, toothed, dark green leaves sat at the very end of fenced garden. Spiky fruits that looked like chestnuts hung from the bush at random.

Ruby rushed to it and fell to her knees, half crawling under the overgrown shrub, and began to dig with her hands. “Amhâhul,” Dwalin heard himself say as his stone sense told him that there was indeed something under that shrub, waiting to be dug up. He barked over his shoulder: “A shovel, can we have a-“

Taking the requested tool from a quick-thinking Gimli with a nod he knelt next to a still frantically digging Ruby. “Amhâhul,” he said again, firmly, gently nudging her aside a little. “Let me do it.” She froze and Dwalin could tell she came to her senses, trying to calm her breathing, forcing herself to let him take control of the situation. He paused and reached out to briefly squeeze her hand. “I’m here, Khajmel,” he soothed and the gratitude swelling up in her nearly took his breath away. He had to close his eyes for a moment at the intensity, doing his best to convey his own feelings through the bond. Giving her hand another squeeze he let go and begun to shovel soil to the side, soon uncovering a stone slab. Nori and Bilbo were busy cutting down the shrub from the sides, to make it easier while Dwalin dug around the edges of that slab. Wiping the dirt off it with his bare hands he turned to look at Ruby, silently asking permission to go ahead. She gave it with a nod and a tiny smile while wringing her hands. Balin and Dori had taken to stand next to the lass, vigilant, ready to protect or give comfort, whatever was needed. It did Dwalin good to see it. Thorin stood well to the side, observing without interfering, his face an unreadable mask, while Gimli had placed himself between the King and Ruby Mahdûna, and there was nothing unintentional about it.

Inhaling deeply, Dwalin took a hold of the stone slap and lifted it away. It revealed a cavity large enough to bury a small goat. It was neatly lined with smooth stone tiles, revealing a wooden box with a lid. The box was elaborately done, with carvings on the surface and metal capping on the corners and edges. Bracing himself, Dwalin got to his feet, gripped the two iron handles and lifted the box out. He placed it at Ruby’s feet.

“We hid them when Adad returned to Stone,” she said, tonelessly. “Only kept some of the Westron books from Gondor and Rohan in the house.” She leaned down and opened the lid. Dwalin could not take his eyes off her, hating how her voice held sadness, longing and a tone so matter-of-fact that she might as well have spoken about a summer’s day being hot. He only looked down when Balin let out a choked sound.

Books.

Books in various sizes and of varying thickness, bound in leather and linen and thick cloth. Some looked old and close to falling to pieces. Several were tied together by a rope of braided fabric.

Dwalin did not have to investigate to know that the old ones were the source of Ruby’s knowledge of Khazad creation and the history of the life of Durin Deathless.

Dwarrow were a secretive people. They did not like to share their language, their history and their traditions with outsiders. It was not always right, often it was disastrously wrong to be so tight-lipped, and Dwalin did not regret to let some special people become privy to their ways. People like Bilbo, like Bard and his children. Even like Tauriel, who kept visiting the mountain often as part of Thranduil’s envoy, much to Kíli’s delight. But those were good people, trustworthy people. Tanner and his thugs were not. It spoke for Ruby Mahdûna, and for Berylla, that they had gone to this length to keep Khazad secrets, but it also hurt Dwalin’s heart to know that Ruby had forgone the freedom of relaxing in her own home for the sake of the secrets of her Adad’s people. Then again, considering the choice she had made to keep Thráin’s maker’s mark safe from Tanner’s grasp, it was not surprising.

“The rest are Mama’s diaries. She said they were to be mine after her passing.” Ruby sniffled and rubbed her nose with her dirty hands, making even more of a mess of her face. “She insisted we hide everything just a couple of days before Tanner came.” Her voice broke on the last sentence.

“Amhâhul,” Dwalin nudged her face up to look at him. “Why don’t we put this box into the care of Balin. For now. Until we’ve taken care of your Mama. He is a scholar and will make sure the box and its contents are kept safe. And you tell us where you want us to prepare the grave.”

Her face scrunched up and for a moment Dwalin feared she’d burst into tears. But then she swallowed heavily and nodded and leaned down once more to close the lid. Balin took a hold of the handles. “It will be safe, mamahzannagûna, I promise.” His Nadad smiled at the lass encouragingly, but Dwalin had heard the slight crack in his voice and knew that Balin was severely shaken by the fact that some of the original writings of Író Zirizarrab looked to be within arm’s reach. For any Dwarrow this would be a big deal, but for a scholar of Balin’s caliber it was monumental. Dwalin had no doubt his brother would protect that box and its contents with his life, if need be.

He gave Balin a knowing smile when their eyes met briefly, but then he was distracted by Ruby turning and dashing off again.

_It’s really quite the habit_ , he thought a little exasperated, and she stopped as if she’d heard him. She half turned and he hurried to her side, holding his hand out. She slid her fingers into his palm without hesitation, and together they walked back around the house, at a much slower pace. Ruby led him across the clearing and into the trees, the others following, drawn along by curiosity. They didn’t walk long, passing through a small section of forest, walking uphill, until they reached the top of it where several large boulders lay, half buried, half in the open, like a giant’s dice tossed aside and landing where they did. Only tall grass grew, trees and other growth had been kept back at it, and when they stepped closer Dwalin’s stone sense told him what they would find.

A dense plant covered the ground in a section and Ruby bent to swipe it away in a certain spot. It revealed stone underneath and a carving:

_Here lies Thráin, son of Thrór._ _Nanaka d’aban_ _._

“Here,” she said, pointing to the bare earth next to it, her voice brittle. “They would want to lie next to each other.”

Dwalin wrapped his arm around Ruby’s shoulder and she turned to cling to him tightly, face buried into his chest. Over her head he met Thorin’s eyes. The King had paled, but he didn’t shake off Bilbo’s hand when the Hobbit reached for him. They all stood in silence, looking at the grave that held their former King, father and uncle.

“How did he die, Amhâhul?” Dwalin asked softly, because he really needed to know, they all did.

Ruby sighed into his chest and turned her head to lean her cheek against him. “He used to have those bad moments,” she replied in a whisper. “Where he didn’t remember who or where he was. He wouldn’t respond, he wouldn’t eat. He’d always had those. But those moments became more and more towards the end. We could always soothe him, make him calm down, bring him into the present. He would be like a child then, obedient and gentle. But not towards the end. He was restless. And in pain. Constantly hurting in the fingers he was missing and the toes he had lost. Horrible dreams kept him awake. Mama was worried. None of our teas and herbs helped. She decided to travel to Bree to get some sleeping draughts Men use. She was only gone a few days, but she came back too late. He didn’t eat, no matter how much I begged him. He didn’t want to stay in bed either. Didn’t want to rest. In a lucid moment he asked me to help him here. I did. I had helped him prepare this place long before I knew what it was for. The weather was good, so I brought out furs and blankets and made him comfortable. It was cloudless night. He died on stone with his eyes on Durin’s star. It was peaceful.”

Dwalin’s heart clenched. He had seen his own Adad die, but that was in battle, when madness was all around them. He often thought it would have been easier to lose him if he had died an old dwarf, in his sleep. He understood now that it would not have made much of a difference. Dwalin wrapped his arms tightly around his One and she pressed herself against him, knowing how he would feel about hearing the details of Thráin’s passing and accepting his attempts to comfort her in return.

“You buried him.” It wasn’t a question, Dwalin only said it to confirm.

“Yes.” She was silent for a moment. “He did not teach me any burial dirges or customs. I only know he had to lay in stone. When I asked him if that was going to be enough to find the way to Itdendûm he laughed and said that as long as my words would be heartfelt, he was sure Mahal would hear me. I did my best.” She suddenly sounded incredibly young and very unsure. “You can say some words when we bring Mama here, if you want to make up for what was lacking for him.”

Bilbo’s sigh was heavy and his voice rough when he responded: “We will. We will make it meaningful for both. For all of us.”

And they did.

A grave was dug quickly into the soil next to the stone grave of Thráin, son of Thrór. Bilbo was busy picking sprigs of green and flowers and binding some bouquets, even managing to get Ruby to help. The lass was getting more and more lethargic and her movements turned sluggish; exhaustion and grief catching up with her. Dwalin watched her like a hawk, managed to get her to wash her face and clean off her hair and clothes a little while divesting himself of his armour and knuckledusters. Nori sauntered past a few times, handing her a slice of apple, a few nuts or half a sausage. He did it so nonchalantly that she didn’t even truly realize what he held out to her, just took it and put it into her mouth before continuing with her task. Dwalin was grateful. He knew he’d not get her to sit down for it, not now, and every bite would help keeping her on her feet for just a little while longer.

At last they were assembled on the little hill in the middle of the forest somewhere in the Bree-fields, amongst boulders almost as tall as them and trees gone in a circle wide enough to let the sun smile down on them from a cloudless, blue sky. A gentle breeze made the tall grass sway gently. The sound of a woodpecker echoed through the forest.

Gimli, Dori, Nori and the oldest of the soldiers stood, keeping to the edges of the small clearing. Thorin had taken up position next to his Adad’s grave, his face a blank mask, but he did not shake off his husband’s hand. Balin was pale, and Dwalin knew he didn’t look much better, even though it was good in a way to know, to be able to stand where Thráin had taken his last breath and began his journey to Itdendûm, where they would meet up with him one day.

Ruby stood next to Berylla’s grave and watched silently while Dori and Gimli lowered her carefully enshrouded remains into the abundance of leaves and flowers that cushioned the grave. Bilbo had given each of their small party a posy to hold, with some twigs and green leaves and spring flowers Dwalin did not recognize. The Hobbit spoke briefly, of a life lived to the full, against all convention, but with the conviction that love gave all who were lucky enough to encounter it in their life. He mentioned the worth of family and the importance of friends, and that sometimes one could be found in the other. He spoke of the love children hold for their parents, how it can be a pure one, a heavy one, a complicated one. He promised that love would overcome hurt, affection bitterness, and patience resentment. At his signal they dropped their posies into the grave.

Balin then took over, intoning a dirge that praised Mahal’s creation. Dori joined in immediately, as did Gimli and the soldiers. Dwalin was sure Nori hummed along and he forced himself to do the same.

Thorin lowered his head until his chin touched his chest, and Dwalin nearly startled when he looked down and saw his Ruby had done the same. Through their bond he could feel that she was transfixed by the sounds of the sung Khuzdul, absorbing every harsh syllable and every sonorous vibration, despite her grief. When the song ended on a long deep tone and the last echo of it had died off there was long, pregnant pause. Then Bilbo cleared his throat and left his husband’s side to reach for Ruby’s hand that was clenched into the fabric of her coat. “Ruby my dear. If there is anything you would like to add. Anything you want to say ... any last words to your Mama, a greeting to your Adad ... “ He trailed off when the lass didn’t react, and he was just about to step back again when she spoke: “Yes.” Her voice was rough. “I want to. I should.” She dropped to her knees, between her mother’s open grave and her Adad’s stone cover slab. A shaking hand carefully straightened a few blades of grass and the tall stems of those same yellow flowers Dwalin knew from the meadows around Hobbiton.

After a few big gulps of breath, Ruby spoke. Dwalin knew her insides were churning with grief, but also with an urgency to share bits of her life over the past ten years with her mother. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the words that came out of her mouth:

“Hi Mama. I’m back. I’m finally back.” She heaved a few deep breaths and Dwalin worried for a moment she would bring herself to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry. So sorry it took me so long. And I’m so sorry that I left you in the first place. You said you understood, and even encouraged me to go, but still ...” She sniffled. “I hated leaving you behind the way I did and I will never forgive myself for it. But I also know ... if I could go back in time ... I’d make exactly the same decision.” Ruby choked on a suppressed sob. Dwalin stepped closer and lay a heavy hand gently on her shoulder. The lass reached up to cover it with hers and gave a squeeze. A little bubble of excitement burst through their bond. “And guess what? I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve met my One. He’s Dwalin, son of Fundin. A good, loyal dwarf. A fierce warrior.” The obvious pride in her voice sent a shiver down his spine. She gave his hand another squeeze and turned her head to look at her father’s grave. “You knew him, Adad, long ago. You were a different dwarf, back then, very different to the one I’ve known you to be. I can’t help but wonder if you ever would have told me the truth. About yourself. About your ... about your other family.” Her voice broke a little and she was silent for a while, contemplating. “I wonder if I should have pressed you. To tell me more about your life before you met Mama. Before you had me.” Deep worry began to simmer through the bond, making Dwalin frown. “I wonder if you’d be angry about my decision. About choosing your maker’s mark and the secrets of your people over Mama’s last moments. She said it was the only choice I could make. The only one I should make. And I agree with it. But I can’t help but wonder. Damâm uru ‘aban.” She said it in Khuzdul, and Dwalin shivered again, a solid tremor running through his whole body when she continued, flawlessly, in the rough language of the Khazad. “You always said that. Insisted on it. And I haven’t done it. I left Mama for a piece of metal.” Her voice broke again. “I haven’t had the best of times, at Tanner’s compound. Mama always said he’s not a good man, and she was right. She was also wrong, because he’s far worse that she ever could have imagined.” And she told them. Dwalin knew that at this point she had almost forgotten that they were there, that she was not alone at her parent’s graves, that her Adad Thráin was not actually by her side in that moment. Not in the flesh anyway.

_But who truly knows who listens to words spoken beside a grave?_

Ruby’s story was long and painful, her tone becoming increasingly distressed. While she began somewhat orderly, eventually her timeline was a disjointed jumble and the more violent the context the more frantic she became in her telling, interrupting herself with heartbreaking sobs. She lingered for ages on her daily chores and gave every little detail about her garden at Tanner’s compound, which meant little to the dwarves in the clearing but Bilbo nodded along in complete understanding, making little encouraging sounds at the right moments without interrupting her flow. She skimmed over most to do with the guarding and weapon side of the compound, clearly either not interested or not skilled in understanding the purpose of guard rotations, daily weapon’s training or the intricacies of recruiting. But Dwalin didn’t mind, his focus fully on his Ruby, rubbing his thumb over her shoulder blade in circles. The faces of the others grew graver with every word she spoke, Balin’s expression a deep-set sketch of pity for her plight, Nori with his chin in a hard line, nodding along with its and that she said, conveying he’d known or guessed that particular bit of her recount. Dori’s mouth was pursed and Dwalin knew the dwarf would mother the lass as much as he mothered his brothers (Ori) - or tried to mother them (Nori). Gimli’s eyes burned and his fists clenched, as did the fists of the soldiers who were there and heard everything the young princess of Durin’s line had endured while held against her will. Dwalin did his best to ruthlessly push down his seething anger at the suffering of his One and continued to push every ounce of love and empathy through their bond he could muster. Bilbo kept a compassionate hand on Thorin’s arm every time the lass was overcome with tears, and he did that nose wriggle thing every time she told about something especially heinous.

Like having to clean away the blood of one Narg after Tanner and his Men had beaten the dwarf to death because his smithing work was not up to scratch. Of one Meric who hated her and called her sharbrugu and ran off one day, leaving her behind without a care. Of one Tarmon who was cut down where he stood when he tried to defend her when the Men rough handled her day. Of having to shave the beard and hair of one Urso, who spoke not one word to her before he managed to escape, only to be caught and ripped apart by the dogs.

At those parts of Ruby’s story Thorin’s eyes were molten pools of hatred and anger, and Dwalin knew that his King would love nothing more than to bring back Tanner from the dead just so he could take his life again. And again. And when Ruby told how she had been locked in with the dogs, Dwalin had no doubt that, if Thorin did have that power, it would be a very long, very drawn out, very painful affair for Tanner. One Dwalin himself gladly would participate in. Alas, Tanner was already dead and buried and their fury had nowhere to go but settle deep in their veins, together with all the other occasions were Khazad had been met with injustice and cruelty at the hands of Men, a fair share of it experienced by Thorin himself in his years of seeking employ in their towns, and aye, Dwalin, too, knew what it was like to be at the receiving end of their scorn and lack of sympathy.

The more Ruby spoke the more Dwalin felt like watching someone drown and not being able to do anything about it. It was torture. Her despondency and grief were more painful than any battle wound he had ever received in his life. Maybe it was just that she had finally reached the point where she could take not more, maybe it was the sense of his helplessness that pushed her over the edge, but hot tears began running down her cheeks and into the collar of her coat. Soon the tears turned into a flood and she cried noisily, with big, grief-stricken sobs that made her body wrack and shake.

“I ... m-miss you b-both so m-much,” she blubbered and Dwalin’s restraint snapped. Leaning down he slipped his arms underneath her and scooped her into his chest. From her recount it was pretty clear that she hadn’t allowed herself many - if any - tears over the years. But now all fight had gone out in her and in his embrace she allowed herself to fall apart. Her arms wound around his neck and she sobbed into his tunic. Dwalin began walking, away from the graves, thinking that a bit of space might soothe her. Suddenly, Dori was by his side. “I’ve cleaned up her room. Best you take her there and lay her down a bit.”

Dwalin followed the prim dwarf with solid steps, all while cuddling the lass to his broad chest, holding her tight. He had not focused on the inside of the house before but was not surprised when Dori led him up the steep stairs and into the loft-space. It had been dusted off somewhat, and the window was open, letting in fresh air and the sounds of the woods around them. There was only a side table and the bed, but his pack was there, and Ruby’s, as well as his armour and weapons, and Dwalin recognized his sleeping roll on the bed and extra blankets.

As gently as if she were made of glass Dwalin lay down his One. She was crying, still, her face crunched up and her eyes squeezed tight. And she clung to him, her fingers dug into his tunic and into his hair and he honestly had no idea how to _uncling_ her. Nor did he want to. He cupped her face with his large hand and stroked he wet, blotched cheek with his fingers, getting ready to kneel on the floorboards next to the bed until she calmed down enough to let go of him.

“Just ... just lay down with her Dwalin,” Dori instructed with a head shake and a mutter while he took off her boots. “She needs you. There’s no point keeping to decorum in a situation such as this.”

Dwalin couldn’t argue. It was hardly a romantic situation. He climbed on the narrow bed and stretched out on his side next to her, pulling her close. Sobs continued to shake her body and all he could do was hold her and stroke her back, mumbling soothing words into her hair.

He had no idea how long he lay with her. Occasionally, sounds of life came from downstairs and outside, the smell of cooking wafted through the loft and the sun slowly crept lower. When Dwalin’s body was stiff and numb from lying still for so long, Ruby’s cries finally turned into sniffles and then into soft hiccups. She fell asleep, exhaustion finally taking over.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khajmel – gift of all gifts  
> Amhâhul - amazing gem  
> Mamahzannagûna – she who continues to be brave  
> nanaka d’aban – he returned to stone  
> Damâm uru ‘aban – Blood over stone  
> Sharbrugu - Hobbit = rude term
> 
> Yay, books.   
> And sigh. Lots of love to everyone who had to bury a parent. It’s a particular pain, a distinct sort of anguish. Words are not enough to describe the hole it leaves in your heart.
> 
> Some of the plants Berylla has embroidered on that strip of cloth she held: thornapple = disguise / wormwood = bitter sorrow / Zinnia = thinking of you / white rhododendron = secrecy / oak leaf = strength / pink carnation = a mother’s undying love  
> The books were, of course, underneath the thornapple bush. Dwalin doesn't know what it is and doesn't care, and since it's his POV we just get a description.   
> FYI: Thornapple is also called Devil’s Snare but is in no way similar to the Devil’s Snare in Harry Potter. It’s something that disappoints me a little, considering J.K. Rowling put such tremendous effort in how to name people, spells and things in her world. To give a name of the thornapple to a plant that wraps people in its tendrils to strangle them when it’s really a stout, leafy bush … meh.


	28. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A permission given

(Dwalin)

Dwalin waited for a long while before carefully extracting himself from Ruby’s hold. Kissing her fingers and her forehead he pulled a blanket over her and quietly made his way downstairs.

He found his brother, Dori, Nori and Gimli spread around the table in the kitchen. The first two had made themselves comfortable on chairs, the latter two lounged on the bench Dwalin recognized as the one from the porch. Dori rose and poured him some tea from the pot that sat on the stove.

“Drink up,” the prim dwarf said as he handed him the mug. “Something to perk you up before you’re dealing with more tears.”

Dwalin just nodded, too surprised about the lack of mention of chaperones, and coughed in surprise when he took a sip. He had expected the ‘fruity bouquet’, not the strong taste with a kick of alcohol.

Balin’s eyes twinkled and Nori cackled lowly. Dori muttered something under his breath and nudged his brother to make room on the bench, leaving his chair free for Dwalin.

Dwalin sat and took another sip, blinking against the very welcome sting down his throat and in his gut.

Gimli grinned. “You can thank me, cousin, for having taken not only one but two flasks of Hamfast’s Moonshine when we rushed from Bag End.”

Dwalin lifted the mug at him in salute. “Wise beyond your years you are, kharmith. It is most welcome.”

They chuckled together before falling silent. Faint noises from outside were proof life hadn’t come to a stand-still. A smattering of voices, the clang of metal, the distant neigh of a horse, the pang of a hammer hitting a nail.

Dwalin rolled the drink in his mouth leisurely before swallowing just as Balin broke the silence. “It’s good she’s finally sleeping.”

“Aye,” Nori tugged at the braids on his chin. “Doubt she’s got a truly good night’s sleep in all her time at Tanner’s. And certainly not the last few days. Didn’t think things could get even crazier than at some stages during the quest, but I’d say the past few days come pretty close.”

Dwalin couldn’t agree more. He took another sip before asking: “Where is everyone else?” He meant Thorin, of course, and Bilbo. He also probably should take a quick round amongst the soldiers. He was their Commander after all and being sidetracked was not an excuse good enough to ignore them now, when things had quietened down.

Balin nodded in immediate understanding. “Thorin’s still at the graves, and Bilbo is with him.”

“We’ve dug up some limestone slaps from down at that stream. Turned them into pavers big enough to cover Berylla’s grave. Will ask Ruby what words she wants on them once she wakes, if any.” Gimli said and Dwalin quirked an eyebrow. Gimli had excellent stone sense and was quite a dab hand at carving. He dipped his chin at the young dwarf in thanks.

“The camp’s taken care off,” Nori added, “But you should probably do a quick round to talk to your lads. Everyone’s quite a bit shaken. Always a tough pill to swallow, being right at the smack when history’s made. And even more so after hearing all the lass has been telling.”

Aye, Dwalin could understand both. Nodding, he lifted the mug and drained the rest of the spiked tea.

“And then you should go up to your lass again,” Balin said as Dwalin got up. He certainly had meant to be doing exactly that, but to be given permission ... Surprised, he looked at his brother, who met his eyes with a serious expression. “She needs you, Naddith. We’ve agreed to let you be by her side. For now, anyway.” Balin gave a little wink and Dwalin snorted.

“Not like you could do much without us knowing, guardsman,” Nori teased, waving a hand towards the open loft, “No secrets in this place.”

Dwalin shot him a halfhearted glare. Then he remembered the box. “Enough secrets to rock our world. Or have you forgotten the books?” It gave him quite a bit satisfaction to see the know-it-all Spy Master sober.

Balin blew out a breath. “Yes, the books. I’ve not looked at them. It’s not my place. And I won’t, unless she’s giving me permission. But I’ll not deny that my fingers are itching and there is a giddy thump in my heart. Ruby Mahdûna will be good, very good for us.”

“You think Thorin’s going to be alright with that?” Dwalin couldn’t help but ask, still remembering too well the hatred in Thorin’s eyes when he pulled his sword on the lass.

Balin waved him off. “Of course. Everything has changed since then. I know, I know, it still doesn’t make it right what he did. But he did join us to chase after her, and he ordered the soldiers to come, too. He did both before he heard what Tanner said and everything else that happened here today. I think it’s safe to say he’s done a complete turnaround in regard to his opinion about the lass. Doesn’t mean she can forgive him just like that, nor us. Doesn’t mean there’s still much he has to come to terms with. Doesn’t mean he won’t have to do some serious groveling. But things have changed. ”

Dwalin grunted. Stretching to his full height he thanked Dori for the tea and went outside. It didn’t take long to speak to each of his soldiers. Some were nearly his age and did remember Thráin in Ered Luin. They were the more shaken ones. But the young ones, who just had witnessed history in the making, no less so, as Nori had said. Offering encouraging words and receiving congratulations on being found by his One, Dwalin was assured that the clearing and its surrounds were as safe as could be.

Becoming restless to be apart from Ruby he returned to her side and stayed with her apart from the time it took him to take care of his own needs, eating meals quickly and using the bathroom they had managed to get to working order. Ruby slept when Dwalin managed to peel the coat off her and continued sleeping for almost two days without waking for longer than the time it took her to drink some water and swallow down a bite to eat. Dwalin did know only too well what it was like to be lacking rest, to be functioning on the bare minimum that was necessary to not lose your mind. Only after regaining Erebor, when he had his own warm bed and felt safe he found deep and uninterrupted sleep for the first time since he was a dwarfling. It did funny things to his insides that she would feel safe enough to sleep now, with him by her side. He kept her in his arms, savouring the feel of her body against him, listening to her deep and even breaths. Just when he began to worry, torn between waking her to make her eat properly or letting her sleep until she woke on her own, she began dozing in and out of her slumber. Having memorized each and every curve of her face, the shape of every long eyelash and the curl of every wild strand of raven hair he happily watched as she wrinkled her nose, sighed deeply and smacked her lips a few times, before slowly opening her eyes. Bright blue blinked at him and his breath caught in his throat.

“Dwalin,” she mumbled sleepily. And she _smiled_. The bond swelled with her happiness that he was here, taking his breath away, and he sent his own affection back as good as he could.

She stretched a little and he could tell the exact moment she remembered: her eyes narrowed slightly, her fingers patted against his chest in thought, then she stiffened, eyes widening, darting up and around briefly before settling on him once more. “How ... how long did I sleep?” Her voice was rough from crying and disuse.

“A bit over two days. It’s the second morning since we found you.” _With Tanner._ He didn’t say it out loud, but he could tell she heard it, nonetheless. The bond really did not leave much room for secrets between them.

Her eyes turned hard and her mouth set in a thin line. Ruby looked like a young Dís when she had enough of using words and was about to finish an argument with her axe. Dwalin was quite certain he did not want Ruby’s anger directed at him. Ever. “I am glad he’s dead.”

Releasing a breath, he couldn’t argue with that. “So am I, Amhâhul. Although after all he’s done I do regret he died so swiftly.” His own anger at Ruby’s suffering at Tanner’s hands surged.

Her eyes shot wide when she realized the depth of his fury, but she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. He took enough from others. He doesn’t deserve to take any more time and energy from anyone. Dead is dead.” Her hand patting his chest and the sadness welling up in her did enough to make his anger deflate.

They looked at each other silently for a long while. Dwalin was not one for vanity but the close scrutiny of her eyes roaming over his features, over his nose, crooked from one fight too many, over the scar that bisected his eyebrow and nearly had taken his right eye, to the ink markings on his bald head, made him more self-conscious than he’d ever been in his whole life. And certainly, the satisfaction that came in waves off her at the sight of him did funny things to his insides.

“You’ve been here the whole time.” It wasn’t a question.

“I won’t be apart from you ever again, Khajmel.” He couldn’t have said it with more sincerity if it had been a vow. She blushed and he watched in fascination how the rosy tint blossomed on her cheeks and spread over her whole face. He couldn’t help but smile at her and tighten his arms around her. “Although I expect they will watch us closely as soon as you’re on your feet again. Decorum and chaperones and all that.”

“I don’t care,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I just don’t want to be separated from you.” There was a hint of fear in the bond now.

“You won’t be,” he soothed and swept down to press a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll take it nice and slow. You and I will have plenty of time to get to know one another. A lot has been said already, but more talk will have to happen.” His heart clenched at the memory of his meltdown after he’d told her about Thráin and his involvement in the King’s disappearance.

She blinked, her fingers twisting in his tunic. “I don’t mind talking to you,” she whispered. “But I guess other talks have to happen, too?” She said it in a tone as if half hoping he’d deny it but since he couldn’t as it was the truth he chuckled.

“You’ll have to take the others out of their misery at some stage, Amhâhul.”

Ruby hummed and wrinkled her nose at the thought. But she met his eyes fully when she asked the question he knew was at the forefront of her mind: “What about the King?”

“Thorin.” It would not do that she’d be all formal when talking about her half-brother.

“Th-Thorin,” she amended after a hesitant pause.

“Thorin’s coming to terms with some hard truths. Being able to stand at Thráin’s grave is a huge step into the right direction.” He sighed. “You must understand, Amhâhul, the Thráin you knew is not the Thráin I’ve known. And he certainly was not the Thráin Thorin has known. It will take some time to come to grips with that fact. For all of us.” Dwalin lifted a hand and chucked his big fist gently against Ruby’s chin. “Even for you.”

She nodded, not denying it, and Dwalin sighed. “I should get up,” he said and made to climb out of bed. “You need to get a proper meal into you. They’ve sorted the plumbing and I’m sure Dori will have a bath waiting for you in a jiffy. It will do you good.” He made a show of sniffing his own shoulder. “And me as well.” He winked at her and tried to stand, but she held on to him. Feeling her reluctance to let him go and her worry about leaving the safe seclusion of her old room he took her hands and turned them to kiss her palms. “Come, Amhâhul. Come downstairs with me.”

Dwalin made sure she took her time to get up, to not get lightheaded, then going down the stairs before her. The sound of boots and the swish of a blue coat at the front door told him Thorin had stepped outside. _He better does that to give my lass some space and not because he’s still in a snit about her._

Dori met them as soon as they entered the kitchen. “Good to see you up, dearies,” he greeted, already breezing past them, “I’ll get a bath ready for you, lass.”

Ruby blinked and Dwalin chuckled. “Told you,” he muttered and focused on Bilbo. The Hobbit stood before them, bobbing slightly on the balls of his feet as he was want to do when he was nervous and tried to center himself. “Ruby.” He looked as if he wanted to swoop in for a hug but thought better of it, instead waving a hand towards the stove. “There’s some light stew, which should be just right for a stomach that has been going on little for too long. We’re lacking larger pots so things are a bit of a challenge in the cooking department, but I can vouch that at least the flavours are acceptable.”

A memory tickled through the bond and before Dwalin could make sense of it Ruby blurted: “How did you get to be invisible?”

Bilbo froze. “Ah.” He gave a sheepish grin. “That.” Wrinkling his nose he bobbed on his toes some more. “Under normal circumstances I would say that’s a story for another day, but we haven’t done too well with that so ...” He coughed a little and Dwalin couldn’t help but smile as he felt Ruby’s gratitude for that acknowledgment. “During the quest I found a magic ring in the tunnels under the Misty Mountains. It makes invisible. Useful little trinket. Very useful indeed. I have utilized it to great effect in several extreme circumstances, to the benefit of many. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve used it with exquisite results in mundane circumstances, to my own never-ending amusement.” Balin, who sat at the table, chortled and shook his head. Dwalin didn’t really want to know what the Royal Consort was up to when he did his rare disappearing stunts; in fact he had tried for years to ignore all about them, too anxious about Bilbo’s safety and too aware that there was nothing he could do to stop him.

“Ruby! You coming?” Dori’s voice sounded from deeper in the small house.

Ruby frowned. “Is he always this impatient?”

Dwalin chuckled. “He quite likes things done just so, exactly when he means to.” He gave her a gentle nudge in the back. “Go, Amhâhul. Enjoy your bath.” When she was gone Dwalin dropped himself on the chair opposite Dwalin. “Where’s Thorin?”

Balin shrugged. “Probably walking. Again.”

“He thought it best to give her some space,” Bilbo clarified, busying himself at the stove.

“They’ll have to talk at some stage.”

“And they will. He wants to.” Bilbo rolled his eyes when Dwalin shot him a doubtful look. “He does. I’m just not sure he’s quite ready for it yet. Nor her.”

Dwalin hummed. “Let’s hope he doesn’t get lost while he’s walking,” he muttered.

Bilbo grinned. Their little jokes about Thorin’s directional challenges were never getting old. How the dwarf could be stellar at maneuvering under stone but so utterly lost above it was anybody’s guess. “Nori’s keeping an eye on him.”

Humming again Dwalin turned his focus on his brother. “What have you been up to, Nadad? Still drooling over the box?”

Balin narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m both too old and too young to drool. Besides, I’ve been busy helping around the house.”

Lifting his eyebrows in question Dwalin looked at Bilbo. “Dusting and getting rid of cobwebs and mice that have made their home here. Had to fix that hole in the roof, got the plumbing sorted and the old bird’s nest off the chimney. We’ve been in the garden, digging up some old vegetables and making use of some wild herbs around the area. Gimli and a few soldiers caught some rabbits. A lot of washing got done and Dori’s been busy making a second tunic for Ruby from some of the sheets that were still in the house.” The Hobbit hesitated. “How long do you think Ruby will want to stay here? Or will she want to stay here at all? Or leave at all?” He rubbed his nose. “There’s not a lot here. It would take quite a bit of work to make this place a home again.”

Dwalin sighed. “I don’t think she’ll want to make this a home again,” he said slowly, rubbing his chest where he could feel Ruby’s presence, her irritation about something in the bath, followed by a melancholic surge. “It’s not that to her anymore, but I’m not sure she’s quite come to that conclusion just yet.” He turned to leave. “I’ll do a quick round before she’s back out.”

Outside the soldiers had made proper camp. The weather was mild and there was space enough to spread bedrolls out around the fire and all assured him things were well. _If the weather changes they can bunk down in the log cabin._ Dwalin eyed the solid structure with interest. It was well built but Dwalin doubted very much it was Thráin’s work. _Maybe the man Berylla lived with._ One more thing to ask Ruby about.

“Dwalin.”

He turned and waited for Gimli to catch up to him.

“She awake?”

“She is. Dori is doing his motherhenning and Bilbo is waiting to feed her.”

Gimli chuckled. “The usual, then.” He turned serious. “Just ask her, when you think she’s ready, what she wants written on her mother’s grave, if anything. Bilbo said something about planting a rose bush from her garden there as well. We just want to make it neat.”

Nodding, Dwalin slapped the young dwarf’s shoulder in gratitude. “I’ll bring her to you after she’s done eating something.”

“I’ll be around.”

Dwalin stepped back inside the house at the same moment Ruby left the bathroom. She wore a different tunic and pants, and her boots which looked like Dori had cleaned them to a gleam. Her thick raven hair hung unbound and damp low down her shoulders and back, and she was busy combing it out with her fingers. She had a frown on her face but her eyes lit up when she saw him and he felt her relief. “You were quick, Amhâhul,” he commented as he hugged her and leaned down to inhale the fresh, clean scent of her hair.

“Told her to take her time,” Dori muttered as he walked past with an armful of clothes. “But she was done and out in a flash.”

Dwalin looked at her and frowned when she blushed, embarrassed. “I’m not used spending a long time cleaning up,” she mumbled, only for him to hear. “And I haven’t had a bath in years. It feels weird to linger. But I still was thorough and I am clean, I promise.”

Not at all liking the thought of Ruby bathing while surrounded by Tanner’s Men Dwalin couldn’t help but feel relieved. “Aye, I can smell it, Amhâhul. Like a flower. And don’t worry, you’ll get used to being able to linger every now and then again soon. Come now, Bilbo’s waiting with food.”

He ushered her into the kitchen and to a seat at the table, where bowls, plates and cups soon made their appearance, filled with delicious stew, toasty damper, roasted meat and hot tea. “While you eat, I’ll wash up, too,” he said and kissed her forehead. “Balin and Bilbo will keep you company, alright?” Dwalin felt her hesitation through their bond and thought she might plead with him to stay, too uncomfortable with the idea of being left in the presence of the others, but she straightened her spine, lifted her chin and nodded. “I’ll be fine.” It sounded like a promise more to herself than to him but Dwalin decided to take it. She’d have to find the courage to be comfortable with his brother without him being around, and Dwalin trusted Balin as well as Bilbo with his One’s life. Conveying those emotions as best as he could through their connection he kissed her forehead again encouragingly and went to have a quick wash as well. If Ruby wasn’t used to lingering when it came to a mundane business such as bathing, well, neither was Dwalin; too many times he had taken the quickest of dips in streams and the bathhouses of Men with his weapons at arm’s reach, not allowing himself even for a second to let his guard down. Accordingly, he was done quickly and when he came back into the kitchen Ruby was still eating.

“Thornapple and white rhododendron,” Bilbo was just saying, “For secrets and hidden messages. Unusual plants, for sure. Honestly, I haven’t seen a thornapple for years, certainly not around Hobbiton. But it was cleverly done by Berylla, although you nearly gave us a heart attack when you dashed off again like you did.”

An embarrassed blush sat on Ruby’s cheeks when Dwalin settled down on the chair next to her. Her eyes darted to him quickly, the blue shining with regret. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause worry.”

He rushed to shake his head. “No worry,” he shot her a wink. “Keeps me on my toes.” Dwalin nodded his thanks at Bilbo when a plate piled high with food was put before him, beginning to eat in his usual, methodical way. “You were talking about that secret space where the books were hidden?”

Ruby bobbed her head and took a big gulp of her tea. “Mama brought them from Rivendell, even before I was born. Adad didn’t like that she had gone there, but he treasured the books. I know them all by heart. He had me recite them, copy them in Khuzdul and translate them into Westron. It was very important to him that I knew my heritage.” Her face fell the moment the last words were out of her mouth at the realization that Thráin had omitted a whole lot of details about her _heritage_. And didn’t that make Dwalin quite a bit angry with Thráin. Because he taught her much, more, in fact, than many other Dwarrow knew, but he left out too many vital parts as well. Reaching for her hand he was glad she let him hold her and entwine their fingers.

“I can’t help but think Thráin would have told you eventually,” he said softly. “Don’t forget, Amhâhul, that a part of him did not want to remember the past and it would have been awfully hard for him to dredge it all back up. He probably thought it unfair to your Mama as well and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. And you were not yet of age, neither by Hobbit standard, nor by Dwarrow’s.”

She nodded jerkily but sniffled, and Dwalin could feel how she was torn about it all.

“They cared deeply for one another,” Bilbo added quietly, sincerely, “Your Mama and your Adad. It’s obvious by just being here, in their space, where they lived together.”

“Thráin would have had a lot of time to reflect,” Balin sighed. “And look at his life differently, especially when he learned things about his people’s history he had not known before.”

Ruby nodded again and then stilled. Dwalin gently squeezed her hand and inhaled sharply at the sudden resolve that pushed through their bond.

“You should read them,” Ruby said, looking around the table and holding each of their eyes in turn. “You should read the books, and Mama’s diaries as well.“

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kharmith – kinsman/brother who is young  
> Khajmel – gift of all gifts  
> Amhâhul - amazing gem
> 
> In Fanfiction, Thorin constantly getting lost has become an old joke. I am fond of it. Somewhere an explanation was given that his stone sense just doesn't work well above ground. I'm going with that. Don't really care if it makes much sense or not :)


	29. Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A treasure not made of gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, moving the plot along.

(Dwalin)

Two days later Dwalin and Ruby sat in the grass near the graves of Berylla and Thráin, leaning comfortably against one of the tall boulders. Ruby’s permission and insistence for them all to read the books had made clear what everybody was going to be occupied with for the foreseeable future. Dwalin had only glanced over the Khazad books; he was not the scholar, and while he was interested and would read them at some time, he wasn’t too keen about them now. Of course, Balin and Bilbo were in absolute jitters the moment they opened the box and Ruby lay the books out on the table before them:

There was Író _’s Of the Quiddity of Ones_ , a small volume of up-to-date unknown poems of Író about life as the husband of Durin II., Író’s Primer every dwarfling knew from learning their Cirth, a brittle, rather fat volume of _History of Dwarrowdom from the First Age_ , one only slightly slimmer book containing _History of Dwarrowdom from the Second Age,_ both by Író. And there were the _Chronicles of Creation_ , a collection of oral accounts by one Wiltrin Whitequill, who worked as scribe under Író in Khazad-Dȗm and was given the title Master of Records, creating the famous Mazaluzul, the Chamber of Memory. Evidently, Master Wiltrin had the great fortune of personally interviewing a number of people in his time, among them one Mereliel, First Lady-in-Waiting of Lady Galadriel, one Ligolin, guard under King Thingol of Doriath, one Herwing of the Haladin, the Second House of the Edain, one Targ Yewhammer, a Mastersmith under a direct descendant of Azaghâl, King of the Broadbeams in the Belegost of old, and one Bolgur, Head of the Royal Kitchens in Khazad-Dȗm, as well as accounts of one Gwaer and his wife, a Mannish couple who lived in the area of what was Tharbad back then.

It went without saying that all the books, but in particular those accounts by Wiltrin Whitequill, were priceless. Academically invaluable, and to any Dwarrow, scholar or not, a treasure throve of information and knowledge. Balin’s eyes were wide and he looked faint when he touched the originals with trembling hands once Ruby lifted them from the box. Underneath the original writings were tightly bound sheets of newer make, that all contained the same neat handwriting. Ruby’s handwriting, as she explained with a self-conscious rosy tinge on her cheeks. Balin threw in his weight as Master Scholar and insisted on the originals being kept as safe as possible, which meant untouched by anyone safe him or Ruby. She had been surprised at his vehemence at that, but acquiesced.

After that, their little company had turned into something akin of a scholarly summer’s excursion; Balin didn’t leave the house but sat at the table carefully reading the originals. Every second other dwarf could be found wrapped up in one or another of Ruby’s copies, or discussing its contents heatedly with those who kept up with the chores.

Dwalin himself had called dibs on Berylla’s diaries. If he was not reading those he was walking with Ruby, or they sat together peacefully. They spoke little, and mostly about the details Berylla had mentioned in her accounts. Ruby was still tired and a little lethargic, but overall calm and at peace, and apart from a few tears she had not dissolved into her grief again. Dwalin was glad, her wellbeing his absolute priority. Dori grumbled a bit when Dwalin refused to be parted from her for longer than a visit to the privy and didn’t let go of her in the nights either, but the prim dwarf didn’t truly put up much of a fight in the name of decorum.

The bond between Dwalin and Ruby Mahdûna continued to intensify. Already now he often found it difficult to distinguish where he ended and she began. He had never known feelings as intense as this. Feelings as foreign as this. Ruby’s thoughts and emotions were so very different to his own, at all times they were full on and profound, and always directed outwards, worrying about the reaction of others to something she did or said. Or didn’t do or didn’t say. It was as exhilarating as it was scary. They had shared a chaste kiss the night before, just before falling asleep. It had been far more chaste than the one they shared on their first meeting, but when the lass sighed and sank into his hold molten heat flowed from Dwalin’s full heart through his veins and settled deep into his bones.

He _loved_ that lass.

Never ever had he felt this much tenderness for anybody. The sweet buttery scent that was all her filled his nose even when she came straight from the bath. It made him happy. He loved touching her and he loved that she didn’t mind it when he did. She had not bothered to braid her hair and left it open and unbound, making her look like Thorin more than ever, and Dwalin loved smoothing her wild curls away from her face. He loved that she fell asleep with her hand on his chest, right on top of his heart, as if she were set on protecting it forever.

Sighing out heavily through his nose with contentment he closed the last of Berylla’s diaries and lay it aside.

“Író would write a story just about them,” he said quietly, “were he still around, I’m sure.” It was true. The love story of Berylla and Thráin was no less profound than that of the famous couples of the love stories of old.

Ruby hummed, snuggled into his side. His arm was slung around her shoulder and Dwalin watched as her fingertips softly moved over his veined forearms, following the white lines of the scars there, before tracing the inky lines on the back of his hands and the runes on his roughened knuckles. He could feel her awe. About his strength. About the power of his big hands. It was thoroughly distracting and when she spoke he had to frown for a moment and rein his thoughts back in to make sense of it: “Író would also add our names to _The Quiddity of Ones_.”

It was his turn to hum, surprised that he actually did like that thought. They sat for a little while longer in contented harmony, watching the grass sway in the breeze, listening to the sounds of the woods around the small clearing. Gimli had carved Berylla’s name and the outline of a Forget-me-not into the stone tiles that covered her grave, and Bilbo and Ruby had dug up one of Berylla’s rose bushes from her garden and replanted it at her final resting place.

Ruby dozed a bit, and he let her, watching over her, but he coaxed her up and back to the house once she woke. They arrived just in time to see off Nori, Gimli and two of the soldiers. It had been decided that the small group should travel to Bree to find out if anyone was missing Tanner, and then move on to Hobbiton, from where Nori would send messages to Ered Luin, as well as to Erebor. It was not yet clear how long Ruby wanted to stay in her childhood home, but Dwalin was certain they would stay long enough for Nori and his group to return.

Dwalin was torn about seeing Nori and Gimli go, another two pairs of eyes to help him keep Ruby safe. It must have shown on his face, because while Ruby spoke briefly to Gimli, the young dwarf becoming a vast friend, Nori sidled up to him.

“Don’t worry, guardsman,” he drawled. “We won’t be gone long, and between Balin, Dori, Bilbo and you she’ll be as safe as can be. Being stuck here might give Thorin the last push to finally talk to the lass.”

Dwalin just grunted, flexing his fingers while already thinking he’d have to keep his axes close again while the four were gone. Nori cackled at his expression, reading him too well, and walked over to Ruby for a few parting words.

Dori was nervous, as always when Nori went off on a job. Balin’s lost-in-contemplations-of-history face was a bit more focused than the previous days, and Bilbo hovered between Ruby and Thorin.

Thorin, who stood separate, his hands behind his back, observing without interfering. The King had kept his distance the past few days, always wandering off when Ruby was around. He held himself stiff and the line of his shoulders was rigid. His expression was haunted and it was clear that his mind was plagued by many unpleasant and painful memories.

That evening, when Ruby sat next to Dwalin at the table while they ate dinner, Thorin absent even though the scent of his pipe still hung in the air, she sighed. Dwalin didn’t have to ask what was on her mind: he could sense her growing worry and nervousness at her half-brother’s distance through their bond.

“Look at you,” he said to her when they went to bed that night, smiling softly at her while he tangled his fingers in her hair. “You are a resilient, beautiful and considerate soul. Even Thorin pitching a snit won’t change that. And know this, Khajmel, whatever it is you are thinking of him, it won’t be any worse than what he is thinking of himself already. I can promise you that. Thorin is, always has been, the most critical about himself.” She smiled feebly at him, and Dwalin’s heart broke at her attempts to be brave and remain positive about this stubborn half-brother of hers. “Deep in his heart he hates the dwarf that loses control. The one that is harsh and unkind. He does not want to be that dwarf. And that dwarf has not been rearing his ugly head for a long while, years, really. Thorin will look at it as utter failure that he wasn’t able to keep him under wraps at the first big challenge since he’s reclaimed Erebor. He’ll hate himself for it forever.” Dwalin kissed her nose. “He is such a stubborn ‘abanjabl. But his heart is big. You and him, Amhâhul ... you will be well.”

When he could feel her profound doubt at his words, and the sorrow about it, he decided to take action. The following morning he left Ruby in his brother’s care and sought out his King. Thorin sat on a fallen tree trunk behind the house, near the stream. Stomping up to him he held out the neat bundle of Berylla’s diaries. “I’ve read them. Now it’s your turn,” he told him, sternly. “You have to read them, Thorin. I know it’s going to be hard, but you have to. You must know about Thráin’s last decades.”

Thorin said nothing, but the clear fear in his eyes told Dwalin enough. He scrubbed a hand over his face, straightened his posture and lay a very serious gaze on his best friend. Thrusting the diaries in his hand he motioned to them. “You read these,” he said sternly, “and then I would that you apologize for your words against Ruby and against her mother. The Hobbit has done right by Thráin, more than many others would have in the same situation. He was happy here. _They_ were happy here. He was at peace when he went on his path to Mahal’s Halls. After the life he’s lead, after the struggles he’s faced, it is more than anyone could have wished for. The house of Durin is a noble house, not infallible, but noble, nonetheless. I would hope that Thorin, son of Thráin, who also fathered Ruby Mahdûna, does remembered it.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, stern Dwalin is sexy 😉 
> 
> Little trip down book canon lane: Not much is known of Durin II apart from that he lived sometime during the late First Age/early Second Age - which is a shame as I think he would have been an excellent character and an outstanding King. Khazad-Dûm was already well established and fantastically famous at that time, creating and crafting marvels beyond belief. I’m certain they would have had trading relationships with the Men in the region and Durin II showed an exceptional level of compassion and tolerance when he not only welcomed the refugees from Nogrod and Belegost (Broadbeams and Firebeards, who lost their homes after the destruction of Beleriand during the War of Wrath) but also entered into an alliance with the Elves (mainly Noldor, many of whom would had seen the Two Trees in Valinor several thousand years prior and lived through the whole saga with Fëanor and the Silmaril and exile and all that). They established the Elf-realm of Eregion - http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Eregion - (under Galadriel’s rule) sometime around S.A. 740 and it has been suggested that it was Durin II who named the West-gate of Khazad-Dûm which was built during that time. One does not need a gate when one does not intend to open it to have frequent interactions me thinks, and therefore I’m giving kudos to Durin II who managed to somewhat unite a lot of peoples who would have been grieving and mourning the loss of loved ones and homes and would have held grudges and nursed anger due to strife and betrayal between the races (think Doriath!). With Morgoth banished and darkness held at bay for the time being this would have been a long time of peace and prosperity in that area of the Misty Mountains, with an up-to-date unseen level of tolerance, cooperation and even friendship between the three races.  
> Of course all went south once Galadriel moved to Lothlorien and Celebrimbor made friends with ‘Annatar’ who turned out to be Sauron. Celebrimbor ruled over Eregion around S.A. 1590 (that’s when the rings were made) and Durin III ruled Khazad-Dûm from around S.A. 1600.  
> Since all Durin incarnations lived longer than the average dwarf the region would have seen at least half a century of peace under Durin II. ... In comparison: Erebor was inhabited for 200 years after Thráin I (son of Nain I, son of Durin VI, who was slain by the Balrog in Khazad-Dûm) founded the Kingdom Under the Mountain, before his son Thorin I lead most of their people to the Grey Mountains/Ered Mithril (Why you ask? Let’s not even go there, I say!), where eventually they were chased out by dragons (300 years later) and lead back to Erebor by Thror I, who ruled until Smaug came another 180 years later. So Erebor, in comparison, the Kingdom so praised by Thorin and the Company was no doubt wealthy in treasure, but lacking much else, and certainly knowledge and skills honed over centuries in Khazad-Dûm.  
> I’m also thinking that Durin’s folk has indeed lost their way a bit over time. Yes, they’ve been a displaced people many times within a relatively short time span, which may at least explain their focus on wealth and home more than on knowledge and wisdom, but it certainly does not excuse it (although it is certainly a possible reason for Balin all those years later to go on that harebrained journey to reclaim Khazad-Dûm).  
> Back to Durin II: much lore and craft would have been practiced under his reign, even more so when enriched by the knowledge of the ancient cities of Nogrod and Belegost, and the Elves. Record keepers in particularly would have been busy to collect and file the current history as well as write down accounts from the past, many people probably quite eager to impart some of their stories before they would be forgotten in time.  
> Anyways. If you’re a Tolkien nerd: you’re welcome :) If you’re not you’re probably quite over this long blurb by now, but I am not sorry I wrote it :)


	30. Patchwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s read with Thorin. This is, I think, my favourite non-Dwalin chapter in this story.

(Thorin)

_“Long have I fought my feelings. Already have I lost my virtue, guarded as it might have been until then, despite of what people said of me. And how odd I am, to love none of my own race. It is an oddity that cannot even be excused by my Tookish blood. Maybe it is my fate, my destiny, even though I am too adventurous even in this. Regardless, much like Bruner before him, this Dwarf, even with all his troubles, has caught my heart. Perhaps I am weak. But I find I don’t have it in me to resist him any longer. His eyes are too intense, his smile, when it happens, is too warm. I will give him my all. With me he shall have a home. With me he shall have happiness. We me he shall have peace.”_

Marking the page with his finger Thorin carefully let the little book sink into his lap and stretched his legs. Sitting under a tree, looking out over the clearing towards the small house his father built, and the wood log cabin that had been Bruner’s. The Man had picked a beautiful spot to build his house away from his home village. A house that had turned into a home far more than he likely meant for it to when it started out as his hunting lodge, certainly after Berylla moved in with him. Bushes and shrubs around the clearing burst with spring green and blossoms, ready explode into bloom at every moment. The trees were swaying in a soft breeze that carried bird song in the mild air, that smelled of rich, dark earth, of sweet new beginnings.

Thorin had followed Dwalin’s demand and read through Berylla’s diaries. There were only about half a dozen slim volumes. Evidently, she had not been an avid writer, but she did mark down important occasions and insights of her life. The first two diaries were about her life away from the Shire, the newfound freedom she discovered while living on her own in Bree, and about her connection with Bruner Eggert, a furrier. He was a good man, according to Berylla, a quiet man, one who felt just as much an outsider in his home village of Archet as she did in the Shire after her twin sisters’s wedding to the down-to-the-bones proper Bungo Baggins. It left her exposed, she wrote, the diversion their twin-ness had ever provided for each other gone. Not liking that the spotlight was on her all the time now, exposing every peculiarity of her adventurous – even for a Took! – spirit. It was too much to bear. Tired of arguments and ploys to get her to settle down ( _it all comes down to meeting the right husband, just look at Belladonna, tamed by The Baggins_ ) she had left in the dead of night. First, to travel on her own, to Rivendell and all over Bree-land, then to settle in a small house not far from the smials in the The Hill in Bree. It had been in Bree, where she met Bruner Eggert for the first time, who had come out from Archet to sell his furs and leathers. Thorin had been to Archet a few times in all the years after his father’s disappearance, trying to find work to earn coin to support his sister and her children. It was the most remote of all the villages in Bree-land, the majority of its citizens related one way or another, most did not seem to value education, manners or morale. It was where he had first met Tanner, many years ago now, when the Man had been young, and wasn’t the world small?

Even amongst Breelanders folk from Archet was said to be the most backward and unprogressive lot. Not many ever left home and Thorin couldn’t help but wonder if Bruner saw the truth of it during his travels. Occasional chats lead to walks which lead to Berylla accompanying him on one of his hunting trips.

Thorin could well see it: If Berylla was even remotely like Bilbo or Ruby, Bruner would have been not only fascinated by the adventurous Hobbit lass, but absolutely enthralled. She would have been everything he was not: well versed in conversation, educated well beyond his station – it wasn’t unusual for Breelanders to read no more than the most basic letters and numbers. She likely was vivacious, vibrant, cheerful, and he would have been lost to her.

It may well have been innocent enough in the beginning, a deep friendship more than anything else. Whatever it was initially, at some point it became more. Berylla followed Bruner to the log hut he had built for himself in the woods along the hills of the Northern Bree-fields. It was off the trodden path, so few travelers, woodsmen or fellow furriers made it that way, preferring the Chetwood that bordered the Bree-lands to the east.

Berylla wrote about her conflicts when deciding on staying with him, since she knew he had children with a woman he was not married to in Archet. A woman he did not love, even though he did dote on the kids, as much as their mother let them. _She’s not the good sort_ , Berylla wrote, without going into details.

Thorin had to sigh when reading that. A part of him could understand Tanner’s anger at Bruner. He could not see himself being too kind to any dwarf who would have gotten Dís pregnant three times in quick succession and left his family behind to hook up with another lass. Then again, it did take two to make a baby, dwarrowdams did not fall pregnant as easily as Mannish women, and Dís herself would have been well capable to take such a Dwarf’s beard, if not more.

Despite those obvious flaws of Bruner, Berylla had been very fond of him. Their life in the secluded log cabin had moulded them together in a way neither had foreseen. It explained how Berylla’s book collection began: “ _How a grown man can love children’s stories so much. He says it’s my voice. I say it’s because he grew up never being allowed to be a child._ ” The second diary ended with Bruner’s death, who succumbed to his injuries after being mauled by a bear. _“I’ve known loneliness. But now it’s worse.”_

And then, just a few months later, Thráin had come into her world.

_“Knowing nothing of Dwarrow I do know this one is different even amongst his own.”_ Berylla wrote how he was unkempt, unwashed, in rags, barefoot, easily spooked like a wild animal, and hungry like one, too. In true Hobbit-fashion, it was the hunger she felt obliged to quell first, his menu taking up much of her thoughts and planning. _“His appetite is improving, like the rest of him. Thin broth turned into substantial soup, turned into stew. Now it’s meat. Always meat. I’m happy to oblige best I can with what I have. But if he pulls his nose up at my roasted vegetables once more I’ll make him sorry.”_ Thorin could almost see her standing with her hands on her hips and frowning down at the Dwarf at her table with a glare.

As he kept on reading Berylla’s notes how, over time, Thráin’s despondency drained away from him slowly, and the tiredness that came with it, a sense of sadness settled in his gut. She wrote how there were still too many days where he seemed lost in emptiness and defeat, in the violence and horror of things long past, but that he seemed to learn to distinguish those days from the others, the good and peaceful ones more. That the angry fire slowly turned into something else. That there came the day when he looked at her with something like wonder, the shroud of darkness all but gone. How Thráin, the lost and broken soul, whose Dwarrow heart was steeped in rock and stone, suddenly managed to put roots into the fertile earth of Berylla’s home.

Thorin’s heart cracked and twisted at reading through the diaries. Those personal entries, that began to contain more than just Berylla’s sparse, to-the-point entries. There was humour there, suddenly, and a degree of tenderness that had been missing in her already fond writings about Bruner Eggert.

Learning that Thráin very seriously considered leaving at some stage had Thorin’s gut clench in worry, even though he already knew the outcome. Berylla wrote how Thráin told her to let him be, that he was nothing but the waste slag of iron. That she said she didn’t know what that meant and he should eat up his food, as it was bad manners to sit at a Hobbit’s table without finishing their plate, _thank you very much._

With his heart already aching Thorin was not prepared to have the air knocked out of his lungs when he turned another page and his eyes fell on the blocky yet oddly swirly script of his father. Thráin, who kept adding little comments in between Berylla’s lines and in the sparse side margins of the diary’s pages. Where he teased her about her sage nods and resolute pats of her small hands on his arm that were both a command and final word. Thorin could relate; Bilbo did the same, his nods and pats more efficient than any long-winded statement in his Court ever could be. Berylla’s resulting comment about how she was thoroughly immune against the furrowing of his eyebrows and stubborn set of his chin that made even his grey beard hairs bristle.

Grey beard hairs.

Thorin tried hard to imagine his father completely grey. It did not work. In his memory Thráin still had thick dark hair, liberally streaked with silver, but still mostly just as raven black as his own. It had been Thrór, who had been all silver with much white, even before Smaug came, and Thorin could not help but wonder if Thráin had been looking much the same.

Calling forth the memory of Thrór’s looks was like a door suddenly opened in Thorin’s mind. A door that had not only been closed for a very long time, but also bolted shut by a multitude of complex locks, with the keys melted down for good measure and the intention of never ever going anywhere near those memories. But now, sitting outside Thráin’s second home, where Thráin’s fourth child had grown up, that door and its locks melted away like butter in the summer’s sun.

He had done his best to always remain by this Adad’s side after their escape from Erebor. Thrór had been in a shock-like trance, one moment giving orders like the King he used to be before the gold-sickness turned him mad, the next spewing commands about retrieving the treasure and waging war. Thráin had worked tirelessly to keep the most vulnerable amongst their people safe and the number of supporters amongst the nobility from dwindling in light of an increasingly powerless King. Naturally, Thráin’s steadfast actions during that time were not what history remembered. And, truth be told, Thorin couldn’t give a feck about how his Adad was remembered in the history books. For a long time he had been very willing to trade a great deal of his own happiness to have the Thráin from that time with him, alive, caring, in control. Everything changed during their war with the orcs, of course, and became even more difficult after Azanulbizar.

Nobody could blame anybody for having changed after Azanulbizar. It had been a profound experience, even for the most seasoned warriors amongst them, so who could blame Thráin? Thráin, who had not been taught kindness and empathy from his father, nor that they were important trades of a King. Thrór had been a good dwarf by all accounts, before he fell to the gold-sickness. He was loud, boisterous, jovial when in a good mood, but scathing when in a bad one. As the eldest son of Dain I. he had been raised to be King, but a King who had the support of his two younger brothers. He certainly had not expected that his father and middle brother would die before Thrór was even of age, and certainly not that his youngest brother would divide the love of their people, withdrawing all support and leaving for the Iron Hills, taking most of Durin’s folk with him. It would have had to have been a hard pill to swallow. Thorin could not imagine what it would be like not to have your siblings’ undivided loyalty and love. And while the Thráin he knew had been a reserved, private dwarf, he could not imagine having been brought up in the cold and distant home Thráin would have had to experience with his father Thrór. Thrór’s madness had come slowly, unidentifiable at first, certainly for the outside world. The mordant, caustic atmosphere only visible for his immediate family, and reserved for Thráin alone after Thrór’s wife died. Thorin couldn’t help but wonder whether Thrór would have been able to fight the gold-sickness longer or even forever if they had more pebbles, or if his wife had been his One. Alas, their marriage had been an arranged one, and they had been fond of each other. Thráin’s life would have been lonely, only improving when Thorin’s mother came into the picture. Another arranged marriage. What little Thorin remembered of his Amad filled him with images of gentle love and laughter. She was a mischievous, outgoing dam, the perfect counterbalance to Thráin’s solemn, introverted personality. When she died giving birth to Dís she left a huge hole in their lives, one that brought much quietness into their home, and an often absent, emotionally distant father. Looking back and knowing how much he relied on his own spouse for private solace, Thorin could not deny that his father probably had been terribly lonely. Somehow, at a time nobody could have expected or foreseen it, Berylla Took had filled that space around Thráin’s heart, which had been empty for so long, and she filled it with softness and kindness. She managed to temper the darkness in him and showed him a new dawn.

Powerless.

That’s what Thráin always had been, about everything and anything in his life, fate doing her best to drown him in events beyond his control. In the end he was even powerless to resist the love of Berylla Took. She managed to dig out his humour, which twinkled at her like ‘ _a gold nugget among rusty iron she wrote’_ , oddly poetic. _‘Fools gold’_ , he scribbled in the margin.

Thráin found solace in the simplicity of Hobbit domesticity, of cooking smells and regular meals, of planting and weeding, or resolute kindness. Thorin could well understand it. He would not have been able to, before Bilbo, but as it were, his husband very much had left that very same mark on him, on them all, and it made perfect sense that Thráin, tortured and frail, would recover in the home of a Hobbit.

Thráin, who wrote that the world he was sure had turned against him and his kin had instead shaped itself into Berylla Took, who had wrapped herself around his heart.

Thorin knew well that what he felt for his father was a complex mix of rage and disappointment, of helplessness and vulnerability. For being little more than a ghost for years and then abandoning them altogether. His children, his family, his friends, his people. Thorin’s emotions had been burning deep inside his soul for as long as he could remember, hot and corrosive. Now, for the first time, he found those sentiments diminished. Now, Thráin suddenly seemed a Dwarf of flesh and blood again. The more he read Berylla’s journals, the more his heart swelled with a new feeling for his father: fondness, affection even. Thorin could almost hear the deep voice saying the words of his ( _valuable_ , he wrote, _infuriating_ , she countered) addendums to Berylla’s diary out loud, his tone full of humour and care.

They were not Ones, and Thorin had to wonder who had a hand in putting Hobbits into the path of the sons of Durin. Not that he would ever complain about having Bilbo in his life. Folk in the Shire had been in shock about Bilbo leaving, and in even more of a shock at him returning. The fact that he had encountered – and survived – all manner of dangerous beasts and situations meant little to Shirefolk, nor that he had married a Dwarf and a King. Those things fell under the miscellaneous rubric of ‘adventure’, and the word described everything undesirable, odd and improper. Had Bilbo been just an ordinary Hobbit they likely would never have returned for a visit in the manner they were now every other year, Thorin knew, but even now Bilbo preferred coming for a visit over returning for good, no matter how much he needed to dig his fingers and toes into the lush green of his homeland every once in a while. It was his homeland, would always be that, but the Shire was no longer his home. Nor was Erebor, or any other place in Middle Earth. Bilbo’s home now was by Thorin’s side. They might not be Ones, but they were in love, and they needed each other like solid ground under their feet, like a breath of fresh air, like food and drink for sustenance.

Much like Berylla and Thráin had been.

Of course their bond only grew when Ruby was born. _“Years of yearning to be a mother with nothing to show for, and one summer’s night to quicken with Yavanna’s blessing.”_ Bruner, it seemed, had been good at fathering children with a Mannish woman, but fate did not allow it to happen with Berylla.

Pages of pages followed, giving insight into their life as a small family. How Ruby was a happy baby. That she made no fuss about eating her vegetables ( _hint, hint_ , Berylla wrote, _shrug_ , Thráin did). Ruby’s first steps were into Thráin’s arms. Her first word was ‘Adad’. He did her first braid at the age of four because her hair grew thick and long and as fast as Berylla’s sweet pea shoots. At the end of the fourth book Thorin’s heart clenched painfully and at the beginning of the fifth it hurt with a vengeance. To read of Berylla’s scolding because she had to clean the windows ‘again’, because Thráin and Ruby saw fit to trace raindrops on the glass when they were stuck inside due to a torrential and lengthy downpour one late spring. To read of them playing hide and seek. To read of Thráin teaching her Cirth, to which she took with much aptitude. To read of Thráin and Ruby tickling each other that her shrieks and his booming laughter were so loud it scared the chickens. Thorin could not imagine it. Thráin playing with his Dwobbit daughter. He had never played with his Dwarrow children, always too distant, too reserved, to busy.

Thráin’s words in the diary were few and far in-between, but one page in the last book was all his: about the day he declared Ruby‘s deed name to the Maker. He explained that it had been something he had been toying with for a while. That there was no doubt there was iron in her blood, too, not just the fertile essence of rich garden soil. How there had been many revelations about how this Dwobbit would understand the details of what Hobbits had known instinctively in all the years of their existence, as well as Dwarrow. How she had demanded changes in the garden to suit plants according to their needs when even Berylla had struggled to get them to flourish, adding the right minerals or removing the wrong rocks from deep under the beds. How she could sense stone from miles away, always pointed towards the Misty Mountains even when blindfolded, and how she dove for cabochons in the nearby streams at the age of ten. That her makansul was unparalleled to any full-blooded Dwarrow Thráin had ever known or heard of, including his own. That the forge was more her home than the kitchen could ever be.

Their Dwobbit child.

So it had been Thráin who had come up with the name. Suddenly, Thorin didn’t mind it. It was apt.

_“She is patchwork.”_ Thráin wrote. That he had ever marveled how a pile of mismatched squared and rectangled fabrics could create a harmonious unity that had beauty in its own right. That Berylla was an expert in creating something out of seemingly nothing, and that Ruby was exactly like her Mama’s creations.

Patchwork.

Thorin mulled over the word for a long time. It was what they all were. A patchwork of their parents’ love and mistakes, of their forefathers’ lessons and experiences and the world’s judgement and forgiveness, of their own failures and successes and the wisdom they found when they combined their heart and soul with another.

She loved him. Berylla loved Thráin without judgement and without prejudice, fully aware that she didn’t know everything about him and that some of those things would be horrendous. She was certain he had a family somewhere and continued to urge him to at least send a message to them to let them know that he was alive and well. Yet she had to accept his explanations that he was not that dwarf any more.

But not all was bliss and roses. Because Thráin continued to suffer from moods that threw him in morose downwards spirals, often followed by anger, anger hot and dangerous. Never directed at Berylla or Ruby, not once, only at himself. He’d work himself into a strop and needed to be left alone, which they did, apart from mealtimes, which Berylla insisted on taking together, even then. _“Especially then.”_

Thorin understood what it was that threw Thráin’s perfect world into a tailspin: guilt. Guilt for how he had left his family, his people. And memories. Memories of too many losses and too much pain and suffering, much of it even Thorin could not begin to imagine, and it was clear to him neither Berylla nor Ruby ever could either.

Thorin’s mouth filled with ash.

Thráin never let his anger take over enough to make his family feel unsafe in his presence. Thráin, who had plenty reasons to fight demons because who could say they survived the tortures of Dol Guldur. And he, Thorin, fell in anger so deep that he spoke to the lass in a way his Amad would pull him at his ears like a naughty dwarfling, he even drew his sword at Ruby Mahdȗna.

Dwalin was right, of course, apologies were necessary, and long overdue. But how could he ever find the words? He could barely look at her, after everything.

His _half-sister_.

Her suffering haunted him. Every word Tanner spoke to her, ever action of the vile Man was engrained in his brain forever. And Ruby’s recount of her time in the compound ... To watch her falling apart like she did had been physically and emotionally draining for all of them, but Thorin’s heart wrung at her weeping.

He had not been able to speak about his very complex emotions regarding Thráin to anyone. And not only because he couldn’t find the words, but also because he didn’t want to place the burdens of his conflicted memories on anyone else. It was his load to carry, for he was the eldest son, he was the heir. At least that’s what he thought for a very long time; Bilbo had taught him that it was quite alright to rely on others every once in a while, especially family and friends.

Ruby had lost both her parents, just like Thorin. She was an orphan, just like him and had thought herself alone in the world for a long time. When, really, she was not. She had a family; two half-siblings and two nephews, and plenty first cousins and second cousins from both sides of the family. And friends. Thorin was honestly not sure about Dís’ initial reaction, but he was certain that both Fíli and Kíli would open their hearts to her immediately. Gimli already liked her, meaning Fárni, Glóin and Óin wouldn’t be far behind. Blooming Dain would like her, he was sure. The rest of the Company would include her in their circle just as quickly as Dori had. And Nori ... The Spy Master adopted an unusual lack of sharpness with anything that concerned the lass. That alone made his feelings very clear.

Balin had accepted her because she was his brother’s One, but Thorin was sure he would have been taken by her just the same simply for being Thráin’s long-lost second daughter. A daughter with unique knowledge about their history, and in possession of books Balin was practically drooling over.

Oddly enough it probably would have been Dwalin who might have shown some more restraint when it came to accepting Ruby Mahdȗna, were she not his One. Dwalin was a good dwarf, but a hard one, even if there was a soft center; he was also distrusting and exceptionally guarded and cautious when it came to change. Having her as his One, well ... Thorin knew he had been a fool dismissing their bond as folly and simple infatuation. It was clear in their every interaction that they were already at a point where they didn’t need many words to convey their thoughts and emotions to each other. They read each other like open books, and the many blushes on Ruby’s face made it clear that their closeness was not going to lessen, on the contrary.

That left Bilbo.

Bilbo, who had been fussing over not being able to offer her better meals to build back Ruby’s strength due to lack of provisions and pot sizes. Tanner’s Men really had cleared out the place, but Thorin had been able to mentally place most of the forged items Nori had brought to them originally all those months ago to their correct place in the house, around the garden and the forge. The items Thráin had made when he built the house. _“This Dwarf has corrupted me. I love my hair pins and no gift made me happier than the iron rose. It is official: I truly am odd.”_ Berylla wrote _. “And beautiful.”_ was Thráin’s scribbled response.

Dwalin was right: They had been truly happy together. Thráin had been happy here and he was at peace when he went on his path to Itdendûm. _“I regret leaving them, although I know I have lived far longer than I have any right to. Part of me is tired and the stone calls to me to sleep. I cannot help but wonder who will be there to greet me in Mahal’s Halls. Many, I long to see again, others I would love to see and embrace once more, but I hope I won’t, not yet, because they should still be busy with their lives, happy and content, just as I have been in those last precious years of mine.”_

It touched Thorin more than he had expected to know that Thráin did think of him in the end, of him and Dís, enough to put it in writing in vague lines that made sense only to those who knew their history. It touched him so much that his eyes welled up and he held his breath as he looked across the clearing where Ruby and Dwalin just wondered off again in the direction of the graves, hands entwined, and at Bilbo, who hesitated only a moment when they made eye contact, before tilting his head and cautiously making his way over to where he sat under the tree.

Bilbo was only in his shirt, the arms rolled up and his pants held up by the expanders with acorns stitched into them, a gift from Thorin from a few years back, the collar of the Mithril-shirt peeking out at the top. Thorin watched as Bilbo stuck his thumbs under his expanders and bobbed on his feet once or twice before sitting down next to him.

“You’re almost done,” his Hobbit commented after a pause, with a glance at the diary in Thorin’s hand and the small stack of slim books beside him.

“I am. Just read Thráin’s last entry.” He didn’t have to say more because Bilbo sighed in understanding. “It is remarkable,” the Hobbit said softly. “Not just as a piece of history, but as _their_ story. Don’t you think?”

Exhaling long and heavy Thorin nodded. “I do.” He reached out to take Bilbo’s hand and wove their fingers together. “By now he would know that I have retaken Erebor. With the help of a Hobbit. I wonder what he says to that.”

Bilbo snorted. “I reckon he’d be delighted. As he should. Not many acknowledge how awesome Hobbits are.”

“And cheeky,” Thorin added, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“Well,” Bilbo rolled his eyes playfully. “Better than stubborn and thick-headed.” He sobered. “Or blindsided by their obsessions.”

_Ah._

_Durin wasn’t infallible._ That’s what a rather shaken Balin had said in summary after he read one of Író’s books from Ruby’s box. It was as short a statement as it was loaded and would have counted as a heavy criticism against Durin’s line in times past, with a guaranteed place in the dungeon cells, if not worse.

Thorin was yet to read the books himself, but already he felt nothing but relief at his Royal Advisor’s comment: if Durin, the eldest father of his line and Thorin’s first ancestor - up to now considered beyond critique, beyond reproach and only ever worthy of admiration and the highest praise - had significant flaws, then who could fault Thorin if he were the same?

“Well,” he said carefully, “It certainly looks like I have inherited far more than just his blood.”

Bilbo looked at their entwined hands and frowned. “Unlike you, however, poor old Durin seems to have had no friends who knocked some sense into him.”

“Yes,” Thorin mused and turned his head to look down on the beads twinkling in the honey curls of his husband. “Words cannot say how grateful I am to know that even if we were not lovers, I would still have your friendship.”

“You would,” Bilbo said easily, his head bobbing in agreement as he flashed him a grin.

Warmth spread through Thorin. “Thank you,” he said and then shook his head in wonder. “I don’t know what I have done to deserve you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Pishposh. Nobody is perfect. And you, my dear, are a very loveable dwarf, even though you’re doing a marvelous job of hiding it, and I know it will take me a lifetime to convince you of the truth of it.”

Lifting his arm to put it around Bilbo’s shoulder Thorin pulled his husband closer. “At least now I believe that being flawed doesn’t make me a terrible failure amongst the long line of my ancestors.”

“It never did,” Bilbo chuckled, but his eyes were serious, “But I am glad you have come to the conclusion on your own. Finally.”

“Small steps,” Thorin said and leaned down to press a kiss into the curls.

“Small steps,” Bilbo agreed.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. My version of redemption for Thráin.   
> What do you think?


	31. Expressing remorse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fancy way for saying sorry

(Ruby)

It was the fourth day since they buried Mama, and after sleeping through two things had fallen into a routine of sorts. Ruby spent every waking moment with Dwalin. And every moment asleep as well. Nobody seemed to have a problem with it, not even Dori, although she felt the prim dwarf’s sharp eyes on her, and especially on Dwalin, more often than not. Just before he left with Gimli and two of the soldiers, Nori openly had told his brother to ease up, reminding him that there was no privacy in the loft that had no door and an open floor. To appease Dori and make sure the others didn’t see a need to send a chaperone with them every hour of every day, Dwalin had insisted they both stayed in their clothes when going to bed, he even insisted on her being under the blanket, while he lay on top. All of it was fine with Ruby. She just did not want to have to sleep alone. She feared facing the new and old images of her torments in her dreams and needed to feel Dwalin’s broad chest expand as he took his breaths in his slumber.

She remembered when he had hauled her into his arms after the Dwarrow had stormed the clearing and closed in on Tanner and his men: there had been a traitorous tremble in his voice as he buried his face into the side of her neck with a shudder. His large hand had been curved into her hair, not caring that it was a wet, muddy mess, the other pressed between her shoulder blades, both pulling her into his hard, solid body. “Mahal, my Ruby, I thought I lost you.”

The stress that oozed off him for not having been able to feel her clearly was undeniable.

She had not been sure why she had not been able to sense him during her foolish escape from Bag End, but when they spoke about it, after, she understood better.

This blocking business of her emotions was not a good thing.

It may have been how she had lived for these last ten years, but it was not something she was consciously aware of. Now, that she came to terms with it, she realized that it was nice to be able to open up a bit, to release the tight guard she always had pulled around herself all the time at Tanner’s compound. To let nothing in. And to let nothing out. Every time she had let that guard down a smidgen, like with Narg and Tarmon, she got hurt even more as a result, making her even more wary. But now, with Dwalin’s presence so firmly inside her soul, the need to guard herself seemed rather obsolete. It was nice to know that someone would have her back.

Thinking back now she could not understand how she ever thought running away would save him from having to make a decision that would alienate him from Thorin, or any other Khazad that would undoubtedly be against her very existence. The tremors of Dwalin’s feelings through the bond at the thought of having lost her for good told her she hurt him more than Thorin or anybody else ever could. The fact that she had accused him of lying to her seemed ridiculous now. Without the shadow of a doubt she knew that Dwalin would have told her everything about his life, just as he had promised, as soon as they had Nori and Kirvi in safety. Overreacting like she did, she had indeed made a fool of herself.

And she had hurt her One.

She would never again do anything like that.

Already now, Dwalin was more important to her than the very air she needed to breathe. She had not had the time to truly look at him, before and she made an effort not to stare at him now, but she couldn’t help it. She loved watching him while he slept, although that was tricky, as he always seemed to wake when she did. And while he stayed with her all the time, occasionally he helped with one task or another, where his height was required, and his strength welcome, and she couldn’t keep her eyes from flitting towards his towering build. He truly was tall for a dwarf, and he cut an intimidating figure. His arms looked solid as steel and his massive shoulders like they were moulded from granite.

His fists looked like they were hard as rocks, in a way making the knuckledusters he tended to wear when armed obsolete. His warrior hands were lined with the marks of hard, desperate battles and of a lifetime of holding a weapon, proof of his experience and prowess. They also bore the evidence of countless hours spent in the forge, the scent of fire and molten metal baked into his very being, together with the more homely scents of fur and salty meat rubs, and of early mornings, when the air was crisp and fresh. She didn’t mind his slightly crooked nose, was in awe of the scar that cut through his eyebrow and itched to trace the ink on his bald head. His hairstyle was unusual for sure, but distinct, and she did like how his muttonchops grew into his beard. His beard was a fine one, and she blushed at admitting to herself how she liked to bury her face in it, but even more at the thought of grabbing his whiskers with both of her hands. She had not dared to do that, yet, knowing what touching beards meant for Dwarrow, and also how his passion flared hot when he picked up on the image in her head through their bond.

The bond really left very little to imagination.

Knowing Író’s words about Blessed Pairs Ruby knew that it would be impossible to keep anything between them secret. Or she had known, in theory. Now she lived it, this complete merging of two minds and hearts. Not bodies, not yet, but she literally _felt_ the smooth coil of his muscles when he sharpened his axes and could not help herself from wondering how his bare skin would feel under her hands.

Dwalin’s head lifted from where he sat under the tree not two feet away from her and tended to his axes. His grey eyes bore into hers. _Damned bond_. She tried hard to reign in the flutters in her stomach, even though she knew it was no use. Amusement, heat and love lapped against her mind. A whole lot of love, in fact. Ruby felt a blush colour her cheeks. Dwalin’s responding chuckle was quiet, barely more a sequence of hums, but she knew how the sound vibrated through his broad chest. Ruby had come to realize that it was her new favourite sound in all the world. His chuckle brought a tender light to life, as did the slightly husky, deep voice in which he had read out parts of her Mama’s diaries.

And hadn’t that been an experience! Ruby had known about her Mama’s diaries, of course, had on occasion seen Berylla sitting at the desk in their small study and writing an entry. Had heard her mock-scold her Adad for writing yet another silly addendum, as well as Thráin’s gentle teasing about one thing or another she wrote. They weren’t a secret, as such, but they were private, and Ruby had never read them. Even after Thráin had returned to stone and Berylla didn’t put much effort in packing them away, and for months they lay open in the study, Ruby never had even touched them. Not because she thought her Mama would have minded, on the contrary, she was often told that they held only insight, no secrets, but it had ever been a line she had found herself unable to cross. Eventually, Berylla had insisted they’d hide the Khuzdul books, and her diaries, too. Ruby had not been able to argue with her Mama when she was so sickly, weak and coughing her heart out for what seemed like days on end. She was glad Dwalin had taken it upon himself to read the words to her. She knew he would have felt her trepidation and doubt about doing it herself.

Listening to her Mama’s words through Dwalin had been a bitter-sweet affair. It was at the same time heartwarming and sad, comforting and upsetting. While she found she had no tears anymore, learning details about her Mama’s life, about thoughts she had not shared with her daughter, about her Adad’s reflections and his perception of her, left her terribly tired and numb.

If she had been glad to have found Dwalin before, she was immeasurably grateful now; he gently but resolutely took charge over her wellbeing. He led her to meals, told her when to wash up, took her hand to tug her along to her parents’ graves or for walks, and tucked her in at night. All while generously sharing his warmth, giving her comfort with his gentle touches and with an endless stream of tender affection through their bond.

“Amhâhul,” he said now. She looked up and saw that he had packed axes and whetstone away. He held out a hand. “Come here, Amhâhul. Let me hold you.”

She did so immediately. Dwalin pulled her between his legs and into a sitting position against his chest. His broad arms held her close and Ruby didn’t hesitate to snuggle into him. Across the clearing she saw Dori eyeing them suspiciously.

“’Anjubkhaz,” Dwalin muttered under his breath and leaned down to bury his nose in her hair. Ruby smiled as the scent of butter and baked goods exploded in their bond. Dwalin’s fingers slid through the hair at her temples. After no friendly touches for such a long time, Ruby basked in Dwalin’s tenderness. It was an incredible gift that a warrior with as many hard and desperate experiences as Dwalin could be so gentle. Ruby knew that much of his focus was on thoughts of safety and a calculation of possible dangers. Dangers to her, to Bilbo, to Thorin, to their whole group. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had always been this way, or if a natural proclivity only intensified when he lost Thráin.

She had, of course, always known that Thráin had suffered. His body bore plenty of marks to prove it, as did his mind. But she could never have guessed that it was something as sinister as the dark forces of evil. The moment Dwalin told her the truth, bared his soul to her in a way it was obvious he had never done to anyone ever before, had been a shock. For a heartbeat she hadn’t known what to think or feel. Then Dwalin dissolved into tears, and she felt the raw emotions churning in him, the pain, the regret, the _guilt_. Not for a moment did it cross her mind to blame him. But he did. Even though he could not possibly be held accountable for Thráin’s disappearance, he blamed himself more than anyone else ever could.

_He looks at himself just like everyone keeps telling me Thorin does look at himself, too,_ Ruby mused. After what Nori had revealed to her about the Dwarrow of Erebor, about the coming of Smaug and Thrór’s and Thráin’s roles in the long years of exile that followed, Ruby understood now that the words she had thrown into Thorin’s face in Bilbo’s study had struck a sensible spot.

Accusing him of living in halls where the walls were coated with arrogance and the floors covered with pride was really only a step away from blaming him for the obsession over precious things Khazad were known for. Which was only yet another step away from declaring him guilty of a fixation that bordered madness.

_Madness._

During Thráin’s dark moments she could often see a touch of it in his haunted eyes. If Thorin had been there to witness Thrór’s descend into it, his own father’s increasing all-consuming fixation on things that should not have been a priority at the time, it was no wonder he was particularly sensitive about that topic. And she had dived right in! Poked him where it hurt the most.

Dwalin brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek and leaned down to kiss her forehead just when Thorin stepped from the house, pausing briefly to speak to Bilbo, who spent the morning weeding Berylla’s garden. Thorin had shucked his majestic, fur collared coat and armour and was only in a richly embroidered blue tunic, pants and boots, but there was no denying his noble upbringing. And not his relation to Thráin. _They walk the same_ , Ruby thought absentmindedly, before tensing when it became clear that Thorin’s slow, but somewhat determined steps lead him over to where she was sitting with Dwalin.

“Here we go,” Dwalin mumbled and nudged her to her feet, before standing up himself. Knowing well that a very large part of Ruby did want nothing more than to bolt, he positioned himself behind her and put his large hands firmly on her shoulders. A show of support as well as a pillar of strength. Through the bond she knew that Dwalin was relieved, but at the same time weary.

Together, they waited for Thorin to join them. Seeing their attention on him, the King’s steps slowed, and his whole demeanour changed. It was clear that his way across the clearing suddenly was a path as trying as climbing the Endless Stair of Durin.

Finally, he came to stand a few feet away from them. Thorin’s eyes were fixed on the ground before him and his expression was heavy and penitent. Startled, Ruby realized that she didn’t like that look on Thorin.

Despite everything.

But she had come to learn much about him these past days, much about his life as son of Thráin. _That_ Thráin that was so different than _her_ Thráin. It made her sad, and she wanted to see Thorin standing tall and proud, chin up against all odds and obstacles. He had overcome so much in his life, achieved so much, he should not be so subdued because of her. Dwalin’s hand squeezed her shoulders and she nearly cried with the flood of grateful tenderness that came through their bond from him.

Thorin shifted his weight from one foot the other for a bit before standing still. The corners of his mouth were pulled down and when he met her gaze his blue eyes were dark and heavy. “I know how to be a brother,” he began, his deep voice low, “in theory anyway. Dís will probably tell I am lousy at it, for I’m too brooding and grumpy for my own good, so how can I be of any use as a brother. But maybe she also tells you that I have always done my best to be the big brother, to her and to Frerin, both. Often, I made a muddle of things but neither can ever deny that I’ve made them my priority, made sure they were taken care of and provided for. At times, I may have been a shield more than a brother or a friend, but I have always tried to do best by them. I want to do the same for you. For you are my sister. It may only be by half your blood but that does not matter. Even a drop of blood would be enough to ensure my loyalty.” A shudder passed over his face and whatever tiny residue of hurt and anger she still nursed somewhere deep inside of her melted into a soft ache of compassion. “Even if we shared no blood, you are Dwalin’s One. That alone makes you family. And even if you were not bound to my best friend in that manner you deserve my allegiance. It’s true, blood over stone is a concept as old as our race. It may have been the most noble way to live by, at one stage, and it is important, still. But the quest and Bilbo have taught me that, sometimes, strangers can grow into friends, and sometimes they deserve your loyalty more than parts of your family.”

Dwalin coughed at that, and it sounded suspiciously like ‘Dain sucks’. Ruby frowned as an image of red hair and boar tusks floated through the bond.

Thorin shot Dwalin a glare but there was no real heat in his eyes. He cleared his throat and turned his focus back on her. “Anyway. I have not ... reacted well. To the truth about my father. To your existence. Horribly, in fact, and I know it well. Despite my title and my ancient blood I am ... just me. And I have always felt I don’t quite measure up. In Mahal’s eyes. It has always led me to doubt myself. Until now. Because now, after reading your Mama’s diaries, and hearing from Balin and Bilbo about Durin’s shortcomings, maybe I can accept myself for what I am. Seeing that Durin didn’t quite measure up in Mahal’s eyes either. That I am still a good dwarf because I am trying. I always have.” Thorin’s tone had turned almost contemplative, and his eyes had slid to a point near Ruby’s feet, but now, as if he his confession had given him a sudden boost of determination, he fixed his gaze on hers again. For a brief beat Ruby felt as if she was looking into her Adad’s piercing blue eyes. Reaching into his coat pocket, Thorin pulled out Thráin’s maker’s mark. Ruby’s breath caught in her throat and she could only stare at him.

“I am sorry for how I treated you. That I doubted you. That I let my anger and frustration about my ... _our_ father influence my actions towards you. Words won’t ever be enough to express my remorse and shame for having pulled my sword at you. And what I said about your Mama ...” He leaned forward slightly and lowered his head to look directly in her eyes. “Berylla Took was a very special Hobbit. She was warmth, courage, determination and compassion. Our father was very lucky to have stumbled into her path. She was the best thing that could have happened to him. I am grateful that she showed him what love can be like. I am grateful that they both raised you to be that beautiful, brave and loyal Dwobbit I am looking at right now.” He held out the maker’s mark. “It is high time I give this back to you.”

Ruby’s head spun. She had anticipated, hoped for Thorin’s apology, knowing that it was what everybody expected from him, having been told numerous times that he loathed himself fiercely for his actions towards her, that they were not truly him at all. Ruby thought she’d get a few words to say he’s sorry and that he was wrong.

Not this.

His apology was monumental. She knew it. She _felt_ it, from Dwalin’s stunned silence through their bond. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. “I should not have it,” she whispered. “I am no smith. Certainly no Master. I kept it safe, but now it should go to someone who truly has a right to it.” She folded her hands behind her back. “You take it.”

It was Thorin’s turn to shake his head. Taking a step forward he held the mark out to her again. “I have my own. And you have more right to it than anybody else, smithing or Mastery or not.”

“You are his heir, in every sense of the word.” She tried to take a step back but was blocked by Dwalin’s bulk behind her.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve defended it with your life. If Thráin was here, I know he would want you to have it.” He lifted his hand again, the maker’s mark held between thumb and forefinger. “Take it, Ruby Mahdûna. There is nobody more worthy of having it than you.”

“People will disagree,” she mumbled, confessing part of her the worries that plagued her. None of the many Khazad she was yet to meet would agree with her carrying Thráin’s maker’s mark when she didn’t have smithing and Mastery braids to show for as well. _You’ve no place in either world._ Tanner’s words had indeed sunk deep.

Understanding and something like sympathy flickered in Thorin’s eyes. He straightened and squared his shoulders. “I am the King and I say it is yours. Any who would speak to the contrary will face my wrath.”

Ruby shuddered at the utter surety of his tone.

“Amhâhul, once everyone hears all you did to keep it safe, nobody will argue your right to have it,” Dwalin mumbled and came up beside her. “And once you wear the braids and beads that declare what you are to me, and to the line of Durin, you will be doted on by our people, especially Durin’s folk.”

She shot him a doubtful look and grimaced when she felt anger at Tanner well up through their bond.

“It’s true that most Khazad struggle with letting any from another race into their inner circle. But once they do they are loyal to a fault,” Thorin said softly. “We knew nothing about Hobbits ten years ago. And now a Hobbit is the Royal Consort of Erebor. He is much adored, both under the mountain as well as outside of it. Anyone who has met Hobbits and lived among them even for a little while has turned out for the better because of it. I won’t keep a thing about your upbringing a secret. Every good detail, every struggle, I will make sure our people know about it. I know you doubt your welcome, as you doubt me. I haven’t given you reason to feel otherwise. And I am sorry it has taken me a while to come to you. Apologies ... don’t come easy to me. Bilbo has been invaluable teaching me about them, but I know I have yet much to learn. I hope you accept my words and we can ... start over?”

No tears came but Ruby couldn’t help the boulder that suddenly seemed lodged in her throat. Unable to speak, she bobbed her head up and down quickly.

Dwalin leaned in to kiss her temple. Then he turned to his friend. “You sure took your time,” he grumbled, but Ruby felt his profound happiness at the turn of events. “One day more and I would have socked your stubborn head.”

“I am your King,” Thorin reminded him mildly and just a little exasperated, as if this was an old argument.

Dwalin nodded gravely. “Aye. And you always will be. Just as you’ll always be a dwarf who has a tendency to have a stick up his-“

“I should have ordered Fundin to ship you off to Dain when I had the chance.” Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Too late now,” Dwalin retorted with an amused snort. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Just my luck,” Thorin mumbled and shook his head slowly in mock dismay, but a smile tugged at his lips. He took a deep breath. “I am sorry, buhel,” he addressed Dwalin, all serious now, “for everything.”

“It is forgiven.” Dwalin reached for Thorin’s shoulder at the same time Thorin’s hand came up. The two dwarves smashed their foreheads together, making Ruby wince. When they let go they grinned at each other. For the first time Ruby could see how deep their friendship truly ran. It was a bond of a different kind, but it clearly also had no need for unnecessary words.

“I want to say sorry, too,” she blurted and blushed when both dwarves turned to face her. “About what I said. To you. That day in Bilbo’s smial.” She meant Thorin but blinked up at Dwalin with a blush when his sudden hunger to kiss her passionately made her forget her words. Clearing her throat and fighting to focus she looked at Thorin. “What I said. To you. That day.” Trying to sort the word scramble in her head. “I accused of not having any morality. Of being arrogant and prideful. Obsessed with things that don’t matter. And I slapped you. It was wrong. I am sorry.”

Thorin sighed, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “The words were not wrong. And I deserved to be slapped for what I said about you and your Mama.”

“But it was hurtful. By the sounds of it you showed more honour than Thrór. And more than ... than Adad.”

Thorin stilled. He eyed her sharply, his blue eyes burning into hers until she squirmed. “Maybe so. But it was not what enraged me in that moment. You do not know.” He looked at Dwalin in sudden comprehension, who shook his head. “It’s yours to tell, buhel.”

Ruby’s heart twisted. Another secret? Did they keep something else from her? Something important? Dwalin, sensing her rising panic, reached for her hand and held it firmly. “No secret, Amhâhul. Just another sad truth, one that is more Thorin’s and Bilbo’s to tell than mine. I know Bilbo is waiting for you to be willing to sit with him for a bit.” The dwarf stood tall and looked across the clearing, towards the house, where Bilbo was working in the garden. “Bilbo,” he called and waved a hand when the Hobbit looked up, peering over the section of wattle fence. “Join us!” While Bilbo walked over to join them Dwalin looked firmly at Thorin. “We will do this now. Once and for all.”

For a moment it looked as if Thorin would give a sharp retort and walk away, then all tension left his body and his broad shoulders slumped. “You are right. Once and for all.”

Bilbo came to a halt next to Thorin; he shot a questioning gaze at his husband, a quirked eyebrow at Dwalin and a small smile at Ruby. “Here I am,” he said simply.

“Thorin’s apologized, very heartfelt and surprisingly eloquent,” Dwalin informed the Hobbit. Thorin groaned and Bilbo smirked. Dwalin gave her hand a squeeze and winked at her. “Ruby also has apologized, about what she said, and that slap,” he continued explaining to Bilbo. “And now Thorin will explain why her words hit a nerve with him.”

When Bilbo’s eyes settled on Thorin there was so much affection and concern in his expression that Ruby almost said she didn’t _need_ an explanation.

But then Thorin nodded and Dwalin ushered her and Bilbo to sit down under the tree, settling himself next to her again without ever letting go of her hand, looking expectantly at his King. Thorin remained standing and paced up and down for a bit before he began speaking. He told about his long search for his father. About his obsession of thinking of ways to regain the mountain. About meeting a wizard. About how that obsession grew once he had said wizard’s support and the idea of stealing the Arkenstone from under the dragon’s nose appealed more each day. About the bitter ache of having nil support from the Longbeards, and even less from the other Khazad clans. About his misplaced prideful behaviour towards Hobbits in general, towards Bilbo in particular, and towards the Elves of Rivendell and Elves everywhere. About how he felt like everyone and everything was against him. Forsaken by the fates, abandoned my Mahal. He told about how he did not see the treasure that was the unwavering support from his small Company. Judging by the hum of Bilbo and the surprised comprehension emanating from Dwalin, Thorin said out loud maybe for the first time, how he lost sight of what was important in his rush to get to the mountain, including family bonds and friendship. How the gold kept calling to him the closer they got. How, in hindsight, he couldn’t explain to himself the reasoning behind most of his decisions from the moment they left Laketown. How blinded he was to think that a dead dragon meant the mountain and its treasure were his to keep for good. His fierce anger at the thought of having to part with a single coin. He explained about the looming confrontation with the Elves of Mirkwood and the Men from Laketown, the danger the Company faced at being either besieged or overrun, and Bilbo’s desperate attempt to stop both. Thorin explained how he fought the voices in his head after he nearly threw Bilbo from the ramparts, and how it had been Dwalin’s words that, somehow, had managed to break through to him to shake off the madness. “I am not my grandfather,” he said with great finality. “I refuse to be him. I refuse to be yet another Durin who is so blinded by his vision, his craft, his treasure, that he loses sight of all that truly matters in life. I refuse to be another dwarf that burdens his family and those closest to him by not considering their needs and wellbeing.”

Ruby didn’t know what to say. She was stunned. Most of what Thorin had confessed she could comprehend, on a certain level, bar one thing: “He nearly killed you.” She looked at Bilbo beside her, who was leaning back on his hands with both legs stretched out before him, just in a shirt with its arms rolled up and pants held by expanders. He looked nothing like what she thought The Baggins would look like, nor a Royal Consort of Erebor. “And you just forgave him?”

Bilbo shrugged. “Why not? He was not himself. It would have been like blaming a person with a cold for having a runny nose.” The Hobbit wriggled his own as if to emphasize. “All Dwarrow are drawn to gold and riches, and Durin’s line seems particularly susceptible. But you must understand, Ruby: it was not _just_ Thorin’s mind going awry. There was magic involved, the dark tarnish of a dragon. For Smaug left his taint on the treasure, and this evilness did its best to sink into Thorin’s soul. There was nothing anyone could have done to break it. It had to be Thorin himself, in the end. And he did.”

“It sets him apart from Thrór and Thráin, Amhâhul,” Dwalin added, squeezing her hand gently, “Although Thráin seems to have come to himself at some stage after I lost him.”

“After he was lured away by dark magic,” Ruby corrected firmly, sensing the wave of self-condemnation rolling up within Dwalin. She covered his hand with her own, stroking her fingers over his knuckles.

Dwalin sighed. “Aye. My head knows this, but my heart still feels like I failed him.”

Ruby shook her head and opened her mouth to speak-

“You did not,” Thorin put in, vehemently. “Nobody ever blamed you for what happened. Certainly I never did. I was, and still am, angry at my father, for chasing a dream and deserting us for it.” He frowned at his feet. “But that anger has lessened considerably since I did exactly the same. Had I fallen during the quest, nobody could have been blamed for it, but me.”

“It’s not that easy,” Dwalin objected with a huff. “Those left behind will always wonder, will always question whether they could have changed the outcome. You know this.”

Something passed between the friends when they exchanged a heavy look. The image of a young dwarf with features similar to Thorin but with dark brown hair and beard floated through their bond. “Frerin,” Dwalin explained to her when he picked up on her awareness, “Your other half-brother. He fell at Azanulbizar. And even though both Thorin and I know that nothing could have saved him bar chaining him to a tree a good distance away from the battle we cannot help but still feel guilty about his death.”

Thorin rubbed a hand over his face. “We should have chained him against a tree,” he muttered, “His fury be damned.”

Dwalin chuckled sadly. “He probably would have stormed past the East-gate of Moria the moment we would have released him, trying to prove a point. He would have hated us for denying him the battle, but apart from that the outcome, for all of us, would have been the same in the end.”

Ruby tried to digest that information. That young dwarf she caught a glimpse of in Dwalin’s mind, Frerin, had none of the heavy, brooding mien Thorin had. “Would he ... do you think he would have liked me?” She blushed when Dwalin lifted their entwined hands to kiss her fingers, and even more when she looked up at a softly smiling Thorin.

“He would have loved you,” her half-brother said without hesitation and Dwalin nodded, “He was a lighthearted, funny dwarf. Clever, too, a born diplomat. I was the heir everyone treated with revered respect, Dís was the princess everyone doted on and spoiled. But Frerin was the dwarf everyone wanted to be close to. To catch a smile and to bask in his laughter.” Thorin paused, then nodded to himself as he reacted: “Frerin would have loved you.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any people left in the line waiting to slap Thorin?
> 
> Amhâhul - amazing gem  
> ’Anjubkhaz – person who is a very annoying, persistent nag  
> Durin’s Tower in Khazad-Dum was built in the peak of the mountain Zirakzigil (Silvertine) and could only be reached by climbing the Endless Stair. Tolkien made a comment about the famed Silberhorn in Switzerland being the Silvertine of his dreams. The Silberhorn stands at an elevation of 3.695 m (12.000 something feet). As the Endless Stair reached from the deepest roots of the mountain to the highest peak one can assume it would have been likely double that and therefore rather a climb. The fact that it went on and on in an unbroken spiral probably didn’t help. Hence Thorin lugs himself across the clearing rather tiredly, as if he’d been climbing Durin’s Endless Stair to reach Ruby.   
> Mahdûna – Blend of all Blends, Ruby’s epithet.  
> Buhel – superior friend


	32. Braiding an identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter. Initially, it was to be the last chapter of the story and I wanted to tick off some plot points and still keep the feels and round things up to a nice ending. I didn’t like what I wrote a year ago and re-wrote it several times since then. Still hated it a couple of weeks ago. So, I re-wrote it again. Am still not happy with it but I think it’s better than it was. It’s not the last chapter any more ‘coz I just can’t do short, but if you peek at the chapter index you’ll see that we’re getting to the end. Some lose ends will get tied up, some surprises still to come, but Our Songs Live Longer Than Our Kingdoms is on its final stretch.

(Ruby)

Silence settled between them.

Birds made their joy of spring known with their song. Laughter burst out between a few soldiers that stood in a group near the log cabin before two split away and made their way into the woods, likely doing their round and touching base with those on watch at the moment. Dori manifested from behind the house with an armload full of clothes, mended, washed and dried, no doubt. The prim dwarf certainly took the tendency of Dwarrow to keep busy to a new level.

Thorin had settled himself in the grass next to Bilbo, holding his hand and rubbing his thumb across the back of it, just like Dwalin did with hers.

After a while Ruby couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “What happens now?”

Bilbo smiled and arched an eyebrow sideways at her. “What do you want to happen? Because you, Ruby dear, are pretty much in charge right now.”

In charge? Ruby wasn’t sure she wanted to be in charge. She barely had a handle over her days at the moment, too much had happened. True, after Thorin’s apology, things suddenly seemed less grim than before, and hope blossomed tentatively in Ruby’s chest.

Still, she had no idea where to go from here.

“First, you take this back.” Thorin leaned over Bilbo and held the maker’s mark out to her once more. After just another heartbeat, Ruby took it, realizing she had run out of reasons to refuse it. She sighed as her fingers wrapped around the metal. Immediately, her makansul brought up the familiar image of Thráin in his forge. Soothing familiarity washed over her, and she smiled.

“What do you see?” When Ruby lifted her gaze, she found Thorin’s blue eyes focused on her, his head slightly tilted, his expression one of honest curiosity.

“I see Adad in a forge. He was much younger, still had both eyes and his hair was not grey but raven like yours. And ... and mine, without the curls. The forge is large, generous, and under green stone. I’m guessing that’s Erebor? He never said, but where else could it be? He was happy, almost giddy with excitement and pride. He wanted nothing more than to finish the mark and then dash off to show it to someone. I can sense it was a presence larger than life, someone of a similar aura than him. Maybe Thrór?” Ruby was quiet for a moment and delved into her makansul once more. “There were much more tools in that forge than Adad had in his little one here. There is a large table with half-finished projects and lots of parchment with sketches. An open door leads into another room, where I can see trunks filled with gold and gems. Golden lights shine in through another open door, from what looks like a hallway. And I feel like ...” She trailed off and when she opened her eyes she met Thorin’s intense gaze over Bilbo’s head and his stunned expression. Recognition flared within her. “You made the weapons and other things that were brought in with Nori and Kirvi. In that very same forge.” Why had she not made the connection before?

“I did.” Thorin confirmed with a slow nod, briefly glancing at Dwalin. Some sort of understanding passed between the two friends, but even with her grasp of her One’s emotions Ruby could not make sense of it.

“I should have recognized it,” Ruby told him, slightly annoyed with herself. “But I only got to hold a few of them very briefly and was more focused on their flawlessness and the fact that the maker’s mark was slightly wrong.” She remembered her awe at the absolute perfection of it all. And how the wrong maker’s mark had thrown her in a loop as it seemed such a contradiction that she didn’t focus on the image of the dwarf that had forged them. Who seemed oddly familiar but since she had no knowledge of Thráin’s Dwarrow relations that hadn’t helped her much.

Dwalin chuckled, but she could feel his pride. “I’ll have to make sure you get a break when folk start shoving stuff into your hands to read it for them.” When she turned her head to look at him perplexed, he gently ran his knuckles over her cheek. “Amhâhul, your makansul is extraordinary. I’ve read to you what Thráin said about it, aye? I’m sure his was strong. Mine is not too shabby, but I only see the crafter’s perspective. I get a sense of who they are, of their surroundings, of the forge and the item while they’re working on it. Might possibly be able to reproduce it since I learn as I follow them around, but otherwise I’m blind. You’ll find very few people who are able to do what you do. Change perspective and meander around at will.”

Ruby blinked. And looked at Thorin for confirmation.

“Dwalin’s right,” her half-brother said, “I can step back enough to see the crafter’s face, but the rest of their body is a blur, as is the space they’re in. I get a sense of their emotion, but I can’t see anything apart from whatever they’re working on directly at the forge flame.” He smiled at her. “It is very impressive.”

While Ruby blushed Bilbo edged forward. “Are you only able to read metal objects? Or does your makansul spread to other things, too?”

“Anything, really,” she confessed, blushing even more when Dwalin’s pride turned into blazing admiration. “The dressing gown I was wearing at Bag End. I know it was made by Mama. She was much younger then. I recognize the space she worked in as Tookborough. I can hear the sound of laughter somewhere in the smial, and smell cooking. And I know she was both happy and sad.”

“It was a wedding present for my mother,” Bilbo sighed. “Berylla would indeed have been both happy and sad about her twin’s marriage.” He frowned. “What about the Khuzdul books? Can you see anything about their making?”

Ruby bobbed her head. “Író seems to have been a nice dwarf. He smiled a lot while working. All the books of his that I know have been written in what looks like Durin’s office, where they sat at adjacent desks. Wiltrin Whitequill is very young. His braids say he’s a brother, the son of a warrior, and a Master Stonecarver by trade.” Ruby absentmindedly gathered her hair to one side with her free hand and moved the rich curls to hang over to the front of her shoulder. Finding the small daughter’s braid she twirled the small wooden bead between her thumb and forefinger. “I should braid my hair proper again,” she mumbled, embarrassed by the realization that she had been slack with her appearance. But Dwalin’s sudden regret – which was way stronger than the image of Balin with a somewhat blissful expression - made her frown at her One questioningly.

“I’ve no bead on me, Amhâhul, but I promise I will make you one as soon as we-“

“I have beads!” Ruby jumped up. How could she have forgotten Mama’s beads! She was about to storm off when Dwalin’s mental alarm stopped her in her tracks. She turned back just as her One, Thorin and Bilbo scrambled to their feet. “Mama insisted I take off our beads and bury them soon after Adad died. She was worried someone might come and try to take them by force,” she explained quickly. Not that anybody ever came to their secluded home. Apart from Tanner. And-

She pushed the vague memory away, ignoring how Dwalin’s interest peaked, and dashed off, towards the back of the log cabin, knowing that the others would follow her, fighting a smile at her One’s fond exasperation at her scurrying.

The Blackberry bush had done exactly what it was want to do: spread. Gone was the small, contained bush, pruned twice a year to within an edge of its life, that yielded just enough fruit for quick snacking. To collect bucketloads full, enough for jam and baking, they had always ventured towards the Eastern Bree-fields, where the dense, prickly bush had taken over much of the light woods.

“They’re buried under here,” Ruby said and pointed to a spot well in the center of the sprawling thicket.

“Oh my,” Bilbo muttered and stepped well back as Dwalin already lifted his freshly sharpened axe. The tall dwarf obviously had some experience in cutting back shrubbery as he worked from the outside in, focusing on growth not attached to the main branches. Just when Ruby realized that Thorin was missing, her half-brother returned with a pike and a shovel. He used the pike to move the prickly cutoff shrubbery to one side. Between him and Dwalin it took mere moments before the ground Ruby had pointed at was laid bare and easily accessible. Not wanting to stand idle Ruby grabbed the shovel before anyone else could and began to dig, ignoring Dwalin’s mental objection. The hole she had placed the small leather pouch in all these years ago had not been deep, and it was not long before she stood up with it in her hand. Carefully untying the leather string, she dipped the contents of the pouch into her palm and held it up to show. Thorin’s sharp inhale broke the silence just as a ray of sunshine blinked through the canopy of the forest and made fine metal and precious gems sparkle.

Ruby separated her Mama’s beads from the two that Thráin had crafted for her: the large silver bead had beveled edges, two of its eight triangular faces held runes painstakingly poured from gold: daughter of stone and daughter of earth. The other four were inlaid with perfectly faceted gems: ruby, sapphire, diamond and emerald. Ruby had forgotten how heavy her heritage bead was. The other bead proclaimed her deed name: another ruby, the size of her thumb’s first digit, painstakingly drilled but uncut and unpolished, encased in a mesh of braided silver wire that had her name stamped on it.

“They are exquisite, Ruby,” Bilbo breathed, full of awe. Ruby had no doubt her Hobbit cousin knew enough about Dwarrow customs to get a sense of the quality of the beads. But he would never be able to grasp the deeper meaning of every choice of shape, material and rune their creator had made. By the stunned sense of wonderment that echoed through her bond with Dwalin, Ruby knew her One understood very well. “I guess it’s time I wear mine again,” she whispered, gently poking her heritage bead with her forefinger. On a whim, she reached for Thorin’s hand and tipped her Mama’s beads into his palm.

“All of them are yours,” Thorin said after a long while, his voice rough, “and I don’t see why you should not wear the ones that fit you in your Mama’s memory and honour.” Her half-brother clearly was quite shaken about the fact that he got to hold items their father had crafted, some not long before his death.

“Did your Mama know what they mean?” Dwalin asked as he held up a generously sized, cylindrical silver bead, set with chips of brown malachite and green tourmaline. The rune on it declared Berylla a daughter of the King of her people.

Ruby shook her head. “No, and she would not have worn it if she had.” She rubbed her nose. “But it’s not wrong, is it. She was a daughter of the old Took, who kind of is a King of Hobbits. Adad wanted her to be treated with the respect she deserved if she ever needed to go and seek out other Dwarrow.” _Because they might not have believed she lived with Thráin, son of Thrór._ Ruby didn’t say it out loud but when Dwalin squeezed her hand she knew he’d heard her, nonetheless. As Berylla and Thráin had not been married by the customs of either people they were in a bit of a grey area. Berylla’s relationship status bead did not declare her a ‘wife’ of Thráin, son of Thrór, nor his One, but ‘his love’. That bead, a large cone shape carved from a dark blue sapphire, together with the heritage bead, was back in the leather pouch. As was the one that declared Berylla a mother. Ruby thought it was the prettiest one: green fuchsite with ruby inclusions.

The red jasper, cut into a perfectly round sphere, and the cone-shaped snowflake obsidian bead as well as the gold obsidian bead had minuscule rune carvings that were inlaid with gold, proclaiming the wearer a sister, a Master of Cookery and a Khazad friend.

“He ... he made this at the forge over there?” Thorin asked, weighing the silver bead in his hand with an absent look in his eyes, his makansul likely showing him Thráin at work.

“Yes.” Ruby nodded. “It’s nothing compared to the one he crafted his maker’s mark in, but it was reasonably well stocked, and a happy place.” She twisted her fingers into her tunic. “You ... you want me to show you?” Ruby felt silly the moment she said it. There was nothing _to see_ other than the remnants of a roof structure that used to shield a small shed with three open sides. The chimney built of expertly stacked stone with soot stains was the only thing indicating what the use of the small space had been. She frowned and looked at the ground, trying to think of the best way of retracting her silly offer, when Thorin’s voice cut through the silence.

“I”d like that.” His voice was rough, but his blue eyes were calm and he gave her a small smile when her gaze shot up to him in surprise.

“Lead the way, Amhâhul.” Dwalin gently nudged her before shouldering his axe.

It sure felt weird to march ahead of her One, her half-brother and her cousin, and at the curious looks of the soldiers Ruby did her best not to storm across the clearing but walk with somewhat measured steps. _More princess-like_ , she thought, _whatever that even means_. Dwalin picked up at her little joke because he chuckled. And even more when Bilbo shot him an exasperated look.

“It is just a little eerie,” the Hobbit commented with a sniff, but with humour in his voice. “Remind me never to share a secret with either of you.”

“You don’t share secrets with me as it is,” Dwalin retorted bluntly, “Always keeping your cards close to your chest.” Ruby picked up on the dwarf’s long-standing frustration about his futile efforts to always know the Royal Consort’s whereabouts. _Must be because of that ring that makes invisible._

“Remind me not to play cards with either of you as well,” Bilbo added dryly, ignoring the barb he understood perfectly well.

Ruby looked sideways at Thorin, who now walked beside her. He met her gaze and shrugged. “My husband is tenacious in his efforts to keep his family safe and the mountain prospering. By all means necessary. I may not like it, but I’ve long learned that there is absolutely nothing I can do to prevent him from doing what he feels is right.” He slowed his steps as they reached what used to be the forge. “And I cannot deny that his instincts are usually unerring.”

He rolled his eyes when Bilbo muttered ‘hear, hear’, and proceeded to look about the small space. Ruby had seen him spend time in it already, alone and with Bilbo. She turned to Dwalin, who looked about with interest.

“It’s much like many a place we’ve worked in, isn’t it, Thorin?” The large dwarf leaned his axe against the side of the chimney and stroked a large palm over the rough stonework. He turned to Ruby. “Thorin and I have spent long years travelling, offering our services in the forge, or even an extra set of hands to do any work available. Anything to make some coin. Don’t think there’s a village between Ered Luin and Tharbad we haven’t been hanging about at one time or another.” His steel-grey eyes came to rest on her. “You’ve spent much time here, haven’t you, Amhâhul?” Ruby knew he didn’t expect an answer, knowing full well how her memories of the time spent in the forge, watching her Adad work, were anchored into her soul as pure happiness, but asked for the sake of the others present.

“He ... he didn’t let me do much, always worried I’d burn myself,” she began haltingly. “Or that there’s some stray ember flying into my eyes. I always had to tie my hair back and sit quietly and watch.” She pointed to the side where the low bench used to be. “He’d let me hold the metal before and after, and often tasked me with fetching water for the quench bucket. Sometimes I was allowed to pour molten silver into moulds. And he let me select the gems he wanted to use. I remember the day he began working on my heritage bead ...” And she told them how Thráin one day had his mind set on crafting her a new bead, deeming her hair long and thick enough to hold the weight of a bigger, more suitable one than the simple silver sphere he had woven into her braid up to then. She told them how she watched him mulling over the design and the making of the mould. How he let her select the gems from a pouch filled with many he had collected over the years. That she chose those four because they spoke to her the most of deep places filled with wonder and the might of Mahal. How she was allowed to melt the gold to fill the carved runes. And how from then on Thráin took her farther from home, tested her more, had her explain to him what she saw when she touched books, clothes, metal and everyday items of all sorts, and encouraged her to dive deep when he took her swimming in the little pools and waterholes in their home’s vicinity, and told her bring up whatever struck her fancy. How she always knew where to put her hands, sometimes to simply grab what already lay open, sometimes to dig a little. How she knew without being told how to distinguish one mineral from the next, one gem from the other. How she always immediately recognized rubies for their stable strength, even blindfolded. How the kitchen had always been a happy place because Mama was there. How the garden had been a place of discovery because it had always intrigued her to listen to her senses speaking to her in the voices of all the growing things that surrounded her. But how the forge had been her home from the moment she had become aware of its existence as a fauntling.

When Ruby paused to catch her breath after a long while she blinked furiously, ready to apologize for having gotten carried away in her memories. But she was met with three sets of eyes staring at her in ... what? ... awe? That could not be it, surely. She had to read that wrong. It was not contempt; she was certain of that. Indulgence? Her connection with Dwalin flared when he picked up on her thoughts. _Nope_.

“Amâhul.” His voice had dropped to a depth she had not heard from him as yet. “You are a marvel and truly blessed by Mahal. And no, I don’t mean because you share a soul with me.” He added with a chuckle and a fond shake of his head when he sensed her immediate reaction to his praise. Abruptly, the tall dwarf turned to address Thorin: “I’m going to walk to the house for a bit. Talk to my Nadad, maybe, if he can lift his head from those books long enough. I’ll leave you to it. It’s gotta be done in the right order, and you are first.” He moved to put his large hands on Ruby’s shoulders and leaned down to press a kiss on her lips. “You stay right here. Won’t be long, I promise, and I’ll keep an eye on you all the time.” He winked and just marched off, towards the house, tossing a “Bilbo! Coming?” over his shoulder.

Right.

_What just happened?_

Ruby knew her eyes nearly bugged out of her head as she tried to make sense of her One’s behaviour. When she looked at Bilbo she just caught him elbowing his husband sharply into the side. Thorin flinched and gave a responding grunt.

“Yes.” Bilbo bounced from one foot to the other. “I’ll follow Dwalin. Be right back.” And gone he was, dashing after the tall dwarf.

For a beat she stared after him, open mouthed. Then it occurred to her that she was alone with Thorin. Suddenly feeling a little nervous Ruby glanced sideways at him. He caught her looking and shook his head with a small, rueful smile. “You’ll get used to their particular brand of getting me to do things I’m too thick headed to get done on my own.” Becoming serious he appraised her closely. “You do not need to fear me. I may be a foolish, old dwarf, but I do quite value my life. Neither Dwalin nor Bilbo would ever forgive me if I upset you again.” He said it evenly, but his eyes were sad.

For some reason Ruby felt ashamed that she made him feel that way and blurted the first thing that came to her mind in the hopes to distract him and make up for it. “You’re not that old.”

There was a tiny grin before Thorin’s face became contemplative. “I am just a bit older than our father was when he became king. Considering how much I bumble through my life on so many occasions I need to really let go of my grudge against him.”

Our father. Thorin said _our father_ and it rolled over his tongue as if he’d said it all his life. Ruby surreptitiously rubbed her nose to hold in a sniffle.

Thorin eyed her worriedly for a moment, but then he nodded at the forge at large. “He has taught you much. Our father. And there is even more that you don’t even have to be taught. Your makansul is extraordinary. I know we’ve said it, and you know Thráin’s opinion from your Mama’s diaries. But I can see you don’t quite believe it just yet, can’t quite grasp why it is so special. You’ll get there, in time. Know that it is clear to me now that Mahal has bestowed a particular hefty dose of his blessings onto you. It will be an honour and a delight accompanying you on your journey. If you let me.”

Ruby suddenly felt about to tear up and struggled to keep her voice even. “I would have loved a younger sibling,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “But I always wanted an older brother.”

Thorin looked like he choked on his tongue for a moment. Then he tentatively reached out his hand. “No matter the many resentments and regrets I’ve harboured over the course of my life, I have always loved being an older brother.”

Ruby hesitated just a beat, then she ignored his offered hand and threw herself against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. He tensed, but after another beat she found herself engulfed in his embrace. The King’s one arm was wrapped around her shoulder, the other hand pressed her face into the soft tunic at his chest. His muscles were just as hard as Dwalin’s, and his grip just as strong yet gentle, but the goosebumps that would race over her body at Dwalin’s touch were noticeably absent, reminding her that this very much was not her One, but her half-brother. Ruby smiled into his tunic. Thorin knew how to hug. Which meant he was used to doing it, and often. She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, but Dwalin’s profound happiness and deep contentment at the sight of them hugging filled many a nook in her soul that still remembered what it was like to feeling cold and lonely.

When Thorin let go of her he did it slowly and gently. As he looked down at her his expression was somber and looking into his eyes from such close proximity had her heart stumble over itself: it was like looking into the face of a younger Thráin, when he still had two eyes. When his eyebrows still were dark instead of white, and the long, thick hair the glossy raven hue of her own.

“Now. The reason Dwalin orchestrated this opportunity for us to be alone is that, by tradition, it is my right and my duty as the head of your house and your oldest male relative to braid your heritage and your deed name beads into your hair. If you permit it, of course. I would also-“ he pulled on his own braid that signified his heritage, “-give you one of mine, to declare you a member of the line of Durin. Again, if you permit it. I will make a new one just for you when I get back to Erebor.”

Letting her eyes dart over the beads in Thorin’s thick and silky raven hair she cautiously reached out to poke at the one he singled out. Her forefinger tingled and images of deep caverns, glittering caves and splendid chambers dashed through her mind. “Mithril,” she whispered, awed. Adad had told her about Mithril, of course, that fabulously precious metal. She had never seen it, nor sensed it other than as a deep hum far, far under the distant line of the Misty Mountains to the east. Unclasping some other beads and unravelling his braid, Thorin freed the heritage bead and dropped it into the palm of her hand. Closing her fingers around it she let her sense take over fully.

“It is very old,” she told Thorin when she finally opened her eyes again, and even to her own ears her voice sounded ridiculously reverently.

Thorin nodded. “It is, it belonged to Thráin, and Thrór before him and I can see that the dwarf that made it looks a lot like us, tall and with raven hair, but that is all I know. No doubt it was made in Khazad-Dȗm a long time ago, and there are precious few records from that time left to us.”

“Durin made it,” she told him, a little surprised. For the first time she understood how her makansul was special. “The first of our line. I can see him clear as day. I know it is him because he looks exactly like Író’s husband, Durin II, the first reincarnation of Deathless. Down to every strand of his hair and every line on his face. Who was burning with a fierce fire of determination while he was crafting this bead. He made it for Dani Dubun’Ibin. He made it for her when he finally remembered about his One. It was to be a gift to her at his return. Only, when he returned to Gundabad she had left to Itdendûm, and he found nothing but the statue she had carved, showing herself as an old, stooped dwarrowdam, looking toward Khazad-Dȗm with sorrow and longing.” Ruby tried to read whether Thorin knew about Dani Dubun’Ibin and was relieved when he gave a slow nod, his eyes boring into hers.

“Bilbo told me about Dani Dubun’Ibin,” he confirmed. “The childless first forging. Seems to me it is high time Durin should not only be known for the wonders he created but also for the blunders he made.” Thorin’s smile was a little pained. “I almost feel sorry for him. Across all lifetimes he is left with much to regret, I’m sure.”

Ruby clasped Thorin’s hands in hers. “Let’s not be like Durin then,” she told him, determinedly. “Let’s not leave things to be regretted.”

A slow smile crept across her half-brother’s lips. “It is much the Hobbit way. To live in the moment and make the most of it.” Leaning in to place his forehead against hers he confessed: “There is much yet I have to learn, Ruby Mahdûna. And I hope you’ll be by my side for much of it.”

,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amhâhul - amazing gem  
> Dani Dubun’Ibin – Dani Gentle Gem  
> Mahdûna – Blend of all Blends, Ruby’s epithet.
> 
> To elaborate about makansul, which is my Dwarrow version of Psychometry, the ability to learn information about an object, person, memory or event by physically touching (science in our world calls it a ‘supposed ability’). Thráin has not explained much about it to Ruby. So even though she knows in theory that makansul different for everyone, she has no grasp about how far hers reaches compared to other Dwarrow. From Chapter 1 we know Balin’s is rather basic, and he is from a prominent family and well educated, so that’s no guarantee. Dwalin’s and Thorin’s is solid when it comes to metal and forging (gems are not metal!).   
> Also, ‘cause I forgot to say this at the end of the last chapter: I am completely omitting that the ring of Erebor’s kings was likely one of the Seven Sauron gave to the Seven Khazad houses. Tolkien notes that Mahal made Dwarrow resistant to corruption and the influence of Morgoth, and later Sauron, but also that Sauron’s rings did not turn them evil but amplified their greed and lust for gold. It might explain some of Thrór’s and Thráin’s obsession with the treasure. When Thráin was taken captive in Dol Guldur the ring was taken from him. Maybe his madness lifted from him then. Maybe years of torture made surviving more important than obsessing about gold. Speaking of rings: a reminder that Bilbo’s ring is just a useful trinket in this story. Whether that would or could change in Middle Earth’s years to come I’ll leave up to my readers’ imagination. It is, however, not a part of this story.
> 
> FYI because I do so much research I might as well share it:
> 
> The European Blackberry grows wild in many parts. Picking fruit is a popular pastime, and the plant is an important element in the ecology of many countries. However, it has a tendency to send down roots from branches that touch the ground and send up suckers from the roots. It is a nuisance in many European countries and has been declared an invasive species and a serious weed in countries such as Australia, Chile, New Zealand, and the Pacific Northwest of North America. 
> 
> A ruby is a variety of the mineral corundum, which is a crystalline form of aluminum oxide. Corundum is naturally a transparent material but turns pink to blood-red when chromium is present. Chromium is an important alloying material for steel because of its strengthening effect when forming stable metal carbides and strong increase in corrosion resistance. This is the reason why my main character got her name (stability, strength, resistance). I can easily see that Dwarrow would be able to distinguish different rocks, gems or crystals by touch, even when blindfolded. Some more than others. Ruby Mahdûna very much more than others. 
> 
> And finally, I remembered to make the Pinterest page for this story public. Yay me 😊 www.pinterest.com.au/cuptivate


	33. Thoughts of a Negative Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worries

(Ruby)

Not long after, Ruby proudly sported a thick braid hanging down from just behind her right ear. Thorin had tugged her to sit in front of him on the ground in the middle of their Adad’s forge and carefully and cautiously worked to separate enough strands of her thick curls to pleat the braid and decorate it with the appropriate beads. The heavy heritage bead settled with a familiar weight, together with her Adad’s small wooden father’s bead, her Mama’s sister bead and Thorin’s Mithril bead. Ruby felt her insides jumping with joyful anticipation to show Dwalin, even though she knew her One had kept an eye on her through the kitchen window and knew everything that was going on through their bond anyway.

The tall dwarf promptly barged from the house and marched across the clearing the moment they were back on their feet, pulling Thorin into a heartfelt hug and slapping his back so enthusiastically that her half-brother’s smile twitched with a wince. Then Dwalin took her hand, dragged her back to their spot under the tree and pulled her between his spread legs in the grass.

“My turn,” he said breathlessly.

Not because he was out of breath from rushing, but because her One was finally allowed to dig his fingers into her hair. Dwalin’s big hands shook as he combed his large fingers through her curls reverently and with great care. Ruby knew that his insides were quivering and that his broad chest was nearly not large enough to hold the breath that he kept in in an effort to control his excitement.

Had they not been back in the grass under the tree opposite the house and with Dori glaring at them from across the clearing she would have turned and climbed into Dwalin’s lap, kissing him with abandon. Nobody had ever touched her hair in a tender way, apart from her parents. Thorin already had softened much of the tightness in her heart, and Dwalin’s careful strokes and gentle tugs, together with the knowledge of his barely restraint passion wanted her to throw caution in the wind and just indulge in the love of her One.

“We must not give in, Amhâhul,” Dwalin mumbled behind her, fingers combing deftly through the last unbound strands, “Dori will have my hide and keep us chaperoned at all times, and there is little I could do to appeal it, or even fight him on it.”

Ruby huffed, annoyed, because through their connection she knew exactly how goosebumps travelled over Dwalin’s body and how he fought the urge to pull her into his lap and kiss her senseless. “It’s stupid,” she groused, “We are Ones. It’s not like we can actually hurt one another without hurting ourselves. Physically or emotionally.” She blushed as she said it. More at her mind for showing her an image of his large, calloused hands on her bare shoulders than at any embarrassment she might feel at mentioning physical contact. She had grown up sheltered and had no experience with males, but she was not ignorant. Her Mama had seen to that. “If Mahal wanted us together, who is Dori to keep us apart?” Why could Dori not understand that they had essentially already _been_ one when their existence began in their Maker’s mind?

“Worry not, Khajmel,” Dwalin soothed while he clasped her deed name bead and the Master of Cookery bead into her accomplishment braid. “Just a little while longer.”

Ruby didn’t ask what would change in a little while, but she saw the rolling hills of the Shire in his mind. Did that mean he was only waiting until they were back in Hobbiton? Ruby hadn’t yet thought about leaving her childhood home. It dawned on her that she wasn’t sure how she felt about leaving at all. Because this time it would be leaving for good. Was she ready for that? And did she want to go to Hobbiton, of all places?

“Wherever you want to be, Amhâhul, whatever you want to do, you’ll not be on your own. No matter how long it takes, no matter how difficult it might seem, I am going to be there right with you.” Dwalin gently stroked over the finished braid and leaned in to press a kiss on her head. “You have not had much say in your life for a while. Take your time to listen into your heart, my Ruby, and we’ll go from there.” He turned her a bit and firmly gripped her chin. Tilting her head up and sideways gently he made her look into his eyes. The beautiful stone grey was swirling with affection. “I love you. We are one. Nothing and nobody can change that.”

And he kissed her.

It wasn’t a soft, chaste press of lips, it was a passionate onslaught that had her reach for his strong arm and hold on to it with a death grip to anchor herself. Dwalin’s mouth was hot and his tongue even hotter. Ruby insides quivered as her body reacted to him. Her eyes fell shut and she trembled when he swallowed her moan. As quickly as he had descended on her he moved back, leaning their foreheads together. “You feel that?” His breath fanned over her face and wanted to crawl into him to taste him again. “This fire cannot be banked. Not ever-”

“Dwalin!” The sharp, angry voice of Dori echoed across the clearing. “Ruby! Lunch is ready!”

Cursing under his breath Dwalin let go of her chin, gripped her hips instead and lifted her to her feet. He stood as well and immediately reached for her hand, lifting it for another lingering kiss on her palm. He held her gaze, his grey eyes burning with the heat of the passion that twirled between them. His lips parted for an open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue flicked out to taste her skin briefly.

Ruby shuddered.

“Dwalin!”

Her One straightened and folded his hand over the one that still tingled from his kiss. “Come, Amhâhul,” the lead her towards the house. “Before Dori gets his beard in a tangle.”

Balin and Thorin sat just outside the gate, where the soldiers had constructed a simple but sturdy log bench. Bilbo hovered by the door. Dori stood well outside the gate, face red with anger, his hands on his hips.

“Next time I call you I’d appreciate it if you reacted immediately,” he sniped at Dwalin, who only offered a grunt in response and simply kept walking.

“You are pushing it, Naddith,” Balin chastised mildly when they walked past the log bench, but the twinkle in his eyes said he was neither surprised nor did he really object. Thorin said nothing and his face was carefully neutral, but Ruby was sure she saw amusement dance in his eyes.

Bilbo, however, sounded a bit disappointed. “I had hoped you have more restraint, Dwalin. Out in the open like that?”

Ruby blinked. Did Bilbo criticize the fact that Dwalin didn’t chose a more seclusive location to kiss her or the kiss itself?

Dwalin’s amusement told her it was the first.

“Dís will have your head,” Dori proclaimed, hot on their heels, and for the first time, worry travelled through their bond. _Dwalin is worried about Dís_. Her _half-sister_ , Ruby had to remind herself. “And as soon as we are back in Hobbiton I will write to her and let her know that you are pushing the boundaries.”

“Like she will be surprised about that,” Dwalin muttered, annoyance and concern warring within him.

It left Ruby confused. Then it hit her. _Dwalin is worried because he thinks_ _Dís won’t like me._ Dwalin had not been worried about Thorin coming around, eventually, not since they had saved her from Tanner. But he _was_ worried about Dís’ reaction to her existence.

Her heart sank like a stone in water.

Dwalin turned at once, tugged her close and slung a protective arm around her shoulders. Then he rounded on Dori, boiling anger rolling through their bond. “You’re upsetting my One,” he growled and pointed a blunt finger into the prim dwarf’s face. “Mind your comments and have some sense. You really think I would have ravished my One out on that clearing, for everyone to see?” His voice rose to a bellow. “You really think I’d ever treat her with anything other than the utmost care? I’d give my life to protect her. That includes protection from prying eyes. Back off if you know what’s good for you.” With that he pulled her into the house.

Dori did not join them in the kitchen, and Thorin was absent as well.

“Thorin’s having a word with him,” Balin soothed after exchanging a long look with his brother and took a seat at the table, with his back to the room. Ruby’s couldn’t stop her eyes from darting to him briefly, nor the shudder that Dwalin surely felt through the bond. “Dori is quite correct in that Dís has always been a champion of for dwarrowdams and their rights, which includes the sometimes overly forceful wooing of suitors, but I admit he’s going about it the wrong way. And Dwalin is no mere suitor to you.”

Ruby could only nod. It made sense. But her mind was preoccupied with the fact that Dwalin was worrying about Dís disliking her. She couldn’t deny that the thought was unnerving.

Dwalin took her hand, entwined their fingers and lay them both on the table, knowing that physical touch somewhat lessen her anxieties. “I understand his reasons and I accept them,” he growled. “But he upsets my Ruby by making me worry about Dís, and that I won’t tolerate.”

Both Bilbo and Balin stared at the tall dwarf for a long, tense moment. Then Bilbo sighed, and plonked the small, dented pot back on the stove with more force than necessary.

“Why won’t Dís like me?” Ruby asked, wincing when her voice sounded thin even to her own ears.

“There’s no knowing what goes on in Dís head about you just yet,” Dwalin tried to soothe. “When we learned about the maker’s mark she was just as upset about anyone daring to misuse it as we all were, and wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of it. Nori’s message will tell her that that mystery has been solved. He’ll also probably mention that Thráin is dead.”

“You mean he won’t tell her about me?”

“Nah,” Dwalin waved her words away with one swipe of his big hand. “For one, it’s not the sort of news you tell in a few lines sent via raven. And it’s not Nori’s place to tell, and he knows that.” He squeezed their joined hands. “He likes you. The uthrab would not do anything that might put you in a tight spot later on.”

Ruby nodded. She did know Nori liked her, likewise had come to consider him a friend. But she was yet to get an explanation as to why Dwalin would worry about Dís liking her. She looked at Balin for help.

“Dís is a good dwarrowdam,” Balin elaborated finally, after another long look with Dwalin. “She is the one who held everything together when the family was about to fall apart. Her and Fárni worked tirelessly to better the lives of their loved ones, as well as to get our people settled and prosper once more.”

_Fárni?_

“Gimli’s Amad,” Dwalin murmured in explanation.

_Ah._ The other Blessed couple. Ruby remembered how excited Gimli was about the revelation that a second Blessed pair was now in the family, other than his parents.

Dwalin grunted in confirmation when he picked up on her train of thought.

Bilbo made a snorting sound at their near wordless communication and fell into the seat next to Balin. “Dís is as opposite to Thorin as you can get. For the most, that is not a bad thing. While Thorin’s anger tends to burn as quickly and furiously as a flash flare, it mostly burns out just as swiftly. But Dís ...” he surged for words. “Take fish. She had a bad experience eating it when she was a damling. Got really ill, apparently. Made her certain she hates it, even though she has only a foggy memory and couldn’t even remember the taste. It took me eight years to convince her to just lick the end of a spoon to try it.”

“And?” Ruby leaned forward.

Bilbo shrugged. “Now she loves it. Eats it in all types of dishes. Doesn’t share even a mouthful of it with anyone, not even her sons.”

“But only when you cook, Bilbo,” Balin reminded the Royal Consort mildly.

_Right._

Bilbo shrugged with a lopsided grin and looked at her pointedly. Ruby nodded. She understood what Bilbo tried to say. When Dís’ mind was made up it was hard to change it. Maybe even impossible. Then again ... “Mama had a recipe for an excellent breakfast pie with fish, leeks, eggs and cream. She taught me how to make it.”

Amusement bubbled up in Dwalin and Balin huffed a laugh. Bilbo’s face lit up and he smiled widely. “Very good.” He winked at her. “I see we understand each other.” The Hobbit got to his feet. “Leave Dís to me for now. It will be a while yet until we need to worry about facing her. Until then, let’s cross one bridge at a time.” He busied himself at the oven for a bit before handing out meagre servings of grilled rabbit strips on a bed of foraged greens. “We already ate,” the Hobbit said, his face showing how displeased he was with the meal. “I know Dwarrow can be without proper food for a long while, and I’ve well learned how to tighten my belt. But food is becoming a problem. The rabbits have caught on and are harder to catch and we’ve foraged the life out of the forest around here.” With that he left the kitchen, grumbling all the way, his mood suddenly sour.

Dwalin poked at the greens but eventually heaved a sigh and shoved a generous fork full into his mouth, chewing determinedly. When he swallowed with a shudder and quickly followed up with a chunk of dry looking meat Ruby couldn’t help but grin at him fondly. “Speaking of fish: how about we catch some for dinner?”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amhâhul - amazing gem  
> Khajmel – gift of all gifts  
> Naddith – brother that is young  
> Uthrab – thief


	34. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Learning more about Ruby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Balin has the stage. I felt it needed a neutral POV of sorts, to look in from the relative outside. Setting up the peak of the curve for another story arc.

(Balin)

The rest of the afternoon was spent following Ruby’s lead to one of the fishing holes in the area. They passed various streams that likely flowed south from the peaks of the North Downs, collected water in rivulets and amassed in what seemed like an abundance of little lakes and brooks until they eventually merged with the Brandywine River. Surprising, really, but certainly not unwelcome in their current circumstance. Bilbo had been getting techier by the day, because of hunger and because of his frustration about not being able to cook properly for Ruby. It was a concern they all shared. They lass was too thin. She had already been on the thin side when she showed up in Hobbiton, but the upheaval from the past days had also worn on her appetite and now that she seemed a bit more stable, emotionally and physically, there was no food to make sure she’d gain back all the strength she needed.

It didn’t really need a half score of people to catch some fish, but when Ruby declared she’d lead the way Thorin took charge and said they should all go. _One way of getting everyone out of the small house and making sure to keep tensions at bay._

Walking leisurely behind Dwalin, Balin observed his little brother and Ruby Mahdûna. Naturally, as soon as Thorin had given the order, everyone armoured up. The five soldiers that were selected to join them clamoured in a lose formation around them, armed to the teeth. Ruby’s expression showed her surprise at her half-brother’s precaution. Clearly, she had resigned herself to Dwalin being the overprotective dwarf in her life from now on, judging by the look of surprise on her face when his Naddith turned on Dori. Balin chuckled to himself. She’d be in for a bit of a shock. The precious lass would not know what hit her with so many eyes on her to see to her safety and wellbeing. However, not all of them had to resort to the bluntness of Dori. The prim dwarf was a special case indeed. And his fight for decorum was an utterly lost cause. Ruby took one look at Dwalin in his chainmail and his knuckle dusters and the blush that rose up her cheeks told exactly that she wished for nothing more but be able to run her hands over said chainmail up her One’s broad chest and get intimately acquainted with those metal and leather clad large hands. The knowing furrowing of his bushy brows and the answering heat in Dwalin’s eyes made it once more abundantly clear that words were not needed between the two.

Of course, Balin knew well that his Naddith was a fine specimen of a dwarf, and flirty eyes on him were not a new occurrence, but Dwalin had ever been immune against it. Until now. While Dwalin was an honourable dwarf to the core, Balin couldn’t help but think that in this case honour was the one thing nobody should worry about. Ruby and Dwalin were one, a Blessed Pair, by the Maker’s will. It was clear that neither could have a thought or emotion without the other knowing, and they had only met about two sennights ago. The lass was tenacious and loyal, insightful and emphatic, considerate and affectionate. With those traits alone she would have the makings of a wonderful wife for his brother. The fact that she had all the trademarks of a leader, a makansul with a reach that was unheard of, and unrivalled knowledge about Khazad history, not to mention that she was a princess of Durin’s line were really just a bonus.

_Albeit a remarkable bonus indeed._

Balin made eye contact with Bilbo, who gave a subtle chin lift in Dori’s direction. The prim dwarf obviously had picked up on the heated looks between Ruby and Dwalin. His eyes had narrowed suspiciously and he looked like he was about to say something when Ruby’s cheeks heated once more, but Bilbo subtly moved himself between the two lovebirds to keep them at a distance.

Barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes Balin focused on the way. The forest thickened soon after leaving the immediate area of the house and the clearing, making it hard to walk in any other way but single file. Ruby lead with Dwalin right behind her, then Bilbo, Thorin, Dori, Balin and the soldiers. The air was thick and stuffy, and no sunlight made it through the leafy canopy of the trees while they weaved through close-standing tree trunks and climbed over fallen branches. When the forest finally thinned out once more, making it easier to keep an eye on the surroundings, Thorin’s hand left the hilt of his sword, the tension in Dwalin’s shoulders lessened a tad and there were sighs of relief. Dwarrow and forests just did not mix well.

Ruby walked beside Dwalin, and her hand moved to nudge against his, probably sensing his discomfort and heightened state of alert. The tall warrior immediately took it and lifted it to his lips for a long and lingering kiss to her palm. They looked at each other, all starry-eyed, but when another blush flushed Ruby’s face, Dori cleared his throat.

“Which way now, Ruby?” The prim dwarf didn’t even bother to pretend to hide his displeasure at yet another public display of affection by the Blessed Pair, his voice overly loud as he asked.

The intervention certainly didn’t help with Ruby’s blush, which by now as about as red as her name suggested. Very obviously forcing herself to let go of Dwalin’s hand – who sent Dori a withering look - the lass took the lead once more. She valiantly tried to distract Dori – and possibly herself – by talking.

She told them about her travel adventures with Thráin because that probably was the first thing that popped into her mind since she led them on a path that was familiar to her. She talked about the bird they watched on _that_ tree, and the butterflies they chased over _that_ grassy stretch. About the field mice that finally came to eat crumbs from her Adad’s hand, after they had laid still as stone on their bellies for half a morning just over _there_ , by the boulders. About the silver she had sensed deep in the roots of _that_ fir, and how Thráin had chopped the tree apart to get to it after a winter’s storm had brought it down and how they returned regularly to pick the best clusters of golden yellow chanterelle mushrooms in the whole area. About the wild rhododendron that grew in massive bushes over _there_ , and how she had Adad bring bucketloads of the perfectly acidic soil back to the house to surprise Mama for her garden. About the cabochons she had dug up from the gravelly sediment of the stream they had to cross by wading through the ankle high water. About the gold nuggets she dove for in the lake just to the north of where they were now, which had told her of their origin deep in the granite of the North Downs mountains.

It was not unusual to find conglomerates, marbles, phyllites, quartzites or slates in the mountainous regions of Middle Earth. In Eregion, agate quartz, amethyst, emeralds, onyx, rutile, tourmaline, turquoise and even diamonds could be found as loose tumbles in streams, if one had a bit of stone sense and the patience to go looking. It was not a profitable undertaking, otherwise scores of Dwarrow would have scoured every inch west of the Misty Mountains, especially the displaced Longbeards after Erebor fell. And silver could very rarely be found in its native form as nuggets, but more usually as deposits in complex rock formations. Clearly, Ruby had a knack to sense things even the most experienced fossicker had trouble with.

_Will be interesting for her to meet Bofur._ The cheerful miner had by far the strongest stone sense of any dwarf Balin had ever met, safe Víli maybe, but even Bofur could not walk about and simply pick-up gems and precious minerals just like that.

When Ruby came to a halt at a shallow stream she was breathless, and as silence ensued suddenly self-conscious. It was a little amusing to watch her expression as it dawned on her that she had been rambling, and that she had shared a lot of private and personal memories, not only with what now was her family, but also with strangers, as she didn’t really know the soldiers. Slanting a look at Thorin’s face it was clear that the King didn’t mind hearing details about the father-daughter bond of Thráin and Ruby Mahdûna; he looked at his half-sister with an expression equal parts awe and fondness, something that seemed to become the standard mien on Thorin’s face when looking at the lass. Bilbo, in his usual fashion, didn’t wallow in airs and graces, but simply pulled her into his arms for a wordless hug. The Hobbit was very obviously very fond of his younger cousin. Dwalin waited patiently for the moment between his One and his Royal Consort to pass, before he handed her his water pouch. Tender affection shone in his eyes at his One’s sweet childhood memories. In return she preened at his attention and gratefully accepted the drink.

_Probably parched after all the talking._

Balin watched Dwalin cut a look at Dori, finding the prim dwarf with his head bowed and seemingly lost in thought. Ever a dwarf attuned to making the most of an opportunity, his Naddith cupped Ruby’s cheek and tilted her face up to kiss her lips. Her eyes fell shut and her whole body turned into him like a flower to the sun.

Balin met Thorin’s eyes over the Blessed couple. They shared a smile. Yep, Dori and his attempts at decorum were a lost cause. Once they were back in Hobbiton, he would have no chance at keeping an eye at the two lovebirds at all times. Balin was quite sure Mahal sat in his halls and laughed in amusement at the prim dwarf’s attempts.

“Right.” Bilbo’s voice broke through the silence just before Dori could spot the stolen kiss. “Lovely place, this. Let’s get fishing.”

The stream’s water was shallow, but Ruby knew her fishing spots and it took not long for them to spread out up and down either side of the stream and have success. After catching two whoppers herself, Ruby stood quietly with a faraway look for a moment, then she took off her boots and socks, folded the sleeves of her tunic up to her elbows and waded into the stream. Unawares of all eyes on her she didn’t aimlessly wander but made a beeline to various spots, reached into the water and picked something up. Only when her hands were full and she could carry no more she came back out. 

Dropping her finds onto the grass next to where Balin sat and took a break, he couldn’t help but huff a laugh when he turned his head to look at her haul. Marbled howlite, green fluorite, black onyx, purple amethyst and even a tiny green peridot proved once more Ruby Mahdûna was truly blessed by their Maker.

“I haven’t been here in so long, the winter melt must have carried much down from the mountains in the past ten years,” she said, plopping down next to him and wriggling her wet toes in the sun. “Imagine what I could find if I spend some time.” She grinned at him, excited like a child about her success.

“Indeed.” Balin could only agree. His stone sense told him told him no more than a vague haze of different gems in the water. He could tell they were there, but he had no idea what they were, and he would have to systematically search to be able to pick them up.

“Impressive.” Thorin added another nicely sized fluorite to the pile and settled down on Ruby’s other side. “Don’t get excited about my skills though,” he warned her in a chuckle when her face lit up. “I literally stood on it. Just an inch to the side and I would have missed it.” He nudged the peridot. “I can see why our father would have encouraged you to explore your senses. It would have been endlessly entertaining for him to watch you succeed in such a very Dwarrow way.”

“He called me uthrabzunshith,” she confided with a sweet little smile. “Most of my finds we sold in Bree to get coin. Adad told Mama what to say and how much to ask for.” She wriggled her nose very Bilbo-like. “It didn’t always work and sometimes it was hard to keep a straight face when the Dwarrow traders spoke Khuzdul with an assistant or other customers in their shops. Most of the time they thought we had stolen the gems, and they didn’t really like buying them off us in case they’d got found out handling stolen goods.” She sounded sad and her shoulders drooped.

Yes, Balin knew well how much it hurt when falsely accused of a wrongdoing. Most Dwarrow had to endure it at some stage in their dealings with other races, especially with Men. Having to listen without being able to defend yourself because you had to pretend you didn’t understand would have been particularly hard. And listening to anyone talking bad about her Mama, well Ruby had shown that she didn’t handle that very well at all.

_Who would?_

“I know it’s harsh but you can’t really blame them for thinking that way,” Thorin said, very gently. “Hobbits were never known for their knowledge of stone and gems, and before Bilbo, Hobbits weren’t known for anything at all, really.” The King’s eyes set on his husband, who was busy instructing the soldiers how to best gut the fish according to Hobbit custom. Amendable as he was in most things, when it came to food preparation and cooking Bilbo was about as lenient as any fabarâl with his troops.

“I guess I just would have liked to speak Khuzdul to someone else other than Adad. It’s ever only been him.” She said it quietly, attempting to keep her tone flat, but the painful regret still rung loud and clear.

“The traders should not have spoken Khuzdul in front of you at all in the first place, and not only because we regard our language a secret. It’s simply rude to speak a language the person opposite you doesn’t understand.” Thorin leaned forward to catch Ruby’s eyes. “You did not reveal your knowledge to those dwarves that were held with you at Tanner’s compound?”

The lass shook her head. “I didn’t dare it. To them I was just a Hobbit.” She swallowed and looked at her hands in her lap. She did well in her attempts to refrain from twisting them in the fabric of her tunic, instead had them palm to palm, simply lying there. Giving away one’s thoughts through body language was not a good thing in their line of business, and Balin couldn’t help but wonder who taught her to quite successfully discard the habit of fidgeting: Thráin or her years in captivity.

Thorin must have come to the same conclusion as he lifted his eyes from her hands to take in her carefully neutral face. “You have their names and some details about them. We’ll make inquiries once we’re back in Hobbiton and might already know more before we even get to Ered Luin.”

Ruby’s head bobbed in a brief nod but her face gave none of her thoughts away. Thorin said ‘we’ but the lass had no way of knowing whether he meant only himself, his Consort and their entourage or whether he included her in the count. Balin couldn’t be sure either, but if he knew Thorin at all he would bet his beard that the King wanted his half-sister to be a part of their journey, ultimately ending in Erebor. 

What would Ruby want though?

While the lass had a bath the other night, Dwalin told him he didn’t think she was ready to leave the house that had been her childhood home, and Balin had to agree. Her tensing up every time she entered the kitchen, even though she made a brave face, was a dead giveaway. As was her determined avoidance of stepping on or looking anywhere near the dark spot on the wooden floor, next to the table. They had not spoken about it amongst themselves, but everyone remembered what Tanner had said about his sister, and it became increasingly clear that she had not yet faced all her memories.

Balin hated the thought of seeing her distraught again. It had been hard to bear when she broke down at her parents’ graves.

But besides that, it was just not feasible for them all to stay, not with the cramped living situation and the food shortage. Safety would remain an issue, and they’d have to wait for Nori’s return to assess their next steps. Either way, someone was going to be struggling with the decisions that needed to be made.

“And as far as speaking Khuzdul goes I can only tell you to not hold back. Bilbo is sufficient enough to follow conversation, even though he speaks with a rather harsh accent. As long as it’s just us, speak it to your heart’s content.” Thorin’s mouth curled into a soft smile when her face lit up, but his eyes were hesitant. _Yes, he, too, is aware of the big question mark hanging over their next steps._

“I will.” She bobbed another nod before looking downstream to Dwalin, who seemed to deliberately be keeping his distance to give them some space to talk while pretending to be busy packing up their makeshift fishing rods. Balin saw his Naddith’s head tilt in question at something that must have been conveyed through their bond before giving a small, encouraging chin lift to the lass.

“Sorry I got a bit carried away telling you stuff. Before. On our way here,” she mumbled promptly, one hand moving to pull at one of her braids, finally giving in to the temptation to fidget. “I know it must be hard for you to listen to me talk about our Adad. I ... I can tell that your relationship with him was very different. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings talking about it so openly.”

Dwalin’s eyes sat firmly on Thorin, gauging his response to what he must have known was at least some measure of resentment, even bitterness maybe, but Thorin shook his head. “Don’t,” he admonished her firmly. “Don’t ever be ashamed of sharing your memories, or worried that they might offend me. I am honoured to hear about your life with our father, all of us are. Every story you tell makes it clear that he loved you dearly. That he was very proud of you. He might not have had it in him to make me feel the same, but our lives and our circumstances were different. We cannot compare them, and I would never begrudge you a happy upbringing.” He lifted a hand and nudged one of her beads with his finger. “He would be thrilled to see your hair like this, and both your parents would be happy that you have found loved ones who proudly take it upon themselves to see that part of your heritage is upheld.”

She bobbed another nod, folding her hands in her lap again, and gave her half-brother a watery smile.

“You making my One cry, Thorin?” Dwalin’s shadow fell over them. His tone was light but there was no denying the warning edge in it.

Balin shook his head with a fond smile. _Overprotective lumox_.

“He didn’t,” Ruby hurried to say, blinking up at her One. “Just me being overly sensitive, is all.” She must have added something else through their bond, because Dwalin sucked in a surprised breath before huffing a burst of laughter.

Sharing a look with Thorin over Ruby’s head they both quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “We’re at a loss at following your silent conversation,” he said while Dwalin smirked at Ruby and winked at her, obviously not intending to elaborate. Although Ruby’s wide eyes and her fierce blush were a dead giveaway.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uthrabzunshith – (little thief bird) Magpie, because Ruby loves collecting shiny things  
> fabarâl - General – (“forward-mover”) – Commands each gangbuh (about 500 soldiers)
> 
> Geologists will appreciate that I’ve mostly kept to facts when it comes to gems and rocks and only sort of stretched a few aspects a little bit. But hey, it’s Middle Earth. Anything’s possible as long as it’s plausible.


End file.
